Proclamation
by jmannxx
Summary: Rasputin was only ever supposed to be a tool, an impersonal shield for humanity. The Guardians were only ever supposed to be a tool, an impersonal shield for humanity. As Ana Bray struggles with her past, a Guardian must face his own and come to terms with the Warmind of Mars, the Vanguard, and a new face to an old threat. Rated M for violence and language. Eventual Ana Bray x OC.
1. Chapter 1 - Proclamation

Orron weighed many responses to Rasputin's proclamation. He had no doubt Ghost was too, and was even surer that Zavala had some more horribly blunt and undiplomatic words for the Warmind. He wasn't surprised, though, when Anastasia Bray's voice was the one with the answer.

"Don't worry. We got this."

Orron's face twisted into a sick smirk. She hadn't just said that. Firstly, it was incredibly cliche. It was clear to the younger Guardian that Zavala and Ana had gone to the same City School of Heroic Stereotypes. Secondly, he just didn't believe her. Ana's comment was so nonchalant, so flippant, that he wasn't even sure that they had just heard the same speech, one given by a potentially insane AI with the capability to destroy the system.

Ana's hand touched the console, and it lit up with orange.

"Welcome, Dr. Anastas-..."

The console immediately shut back down and the hollow, broken Russian of Rasputin echoed through the chamber, reverberating in the open space and hitting Orron in the stomach even through all of his armor.

" **Я был построен, чтобы повиноваться. Теперь, единственное, что я подотчетна это человечество."**

Ana turned back to the two Titans, both standing silently.

"I was...built to obey. Now the only thing I am...accountable to...is humanity."

The apprehension on Ana's face grew with each word she translated. Zavala remained quiet, for once. Ghost was the first one to speak.

"Well...that's good, right? He's on the side of humanity. Maybe we don't have to be best friends, but…"

That voice again.

 **Я не могу понять ваши работы, маленький свет. Ваш путешественник не смог защитить человечество. Хорошо.**

"I do not understand you, little light...but your Traveller failed to protect humanity. I won't."

"I hate being called that."

Ana shook her head.

"I don't think Rasputin cares."

The AI didn't answer. Orron got the feeling that the Warmind of Mars wasn't particularly interested in small talk, or if he even understood it. His musings were interrupted by Zavala, serious as ever.

"You can't control him, Ana. The past, the past you are obsessed with, is gone - and Rasputin has changed. Now you have given a mad AI the strength he needs to wreak havoc on the Vanguard and the City."

"He won't do that, Zavala", said Ana, protest growing in her voice as the Warmind's nexus impassively watched from behind her. "He was built to protect humanity, and by every measure, that's what he's doing."

Zavala shook his head, turning slowly away.

"Your hubris was always going to be your downfall, Ana Bray. You are a skilled Guardian, and I respect you for that. But I cannot sanction any further Vanguard involvement in this disaster."

He turned to Orron. "Come, Guardian. Let us leave the heirs of Clovis Bray buried in the ruins of their facilities."

Orron looked at Ana, who had turned to match Zavala's steely gaze and now watched the Vanguard Commander lumber off. Ana wasted no time.

"Guardian...I…"

He held up a hand in protestation "You can call me Orron."

"Ah, so you do speak! Fascinating. And here I'd thought the Vanguard only accepted mutes these days."

"I just didn't have a lot to say."

Ana nodded her head in mock-agreement.

"Well…" She looked at Rasputin behind here, at the swirling, glowing mass of bright specks and the orange field binding them all.

"We should go with Commander Zavala, Orron." Ghost was more serious now. Orron shot him a sidelong glance.

"Guar-..Orron. Look. I don't know exactly what Rasputin is doing, but if you give me some time I can try and figure it out. I've spent the last few years of my life trying to unlock the secrets buried here. I won't leave him."

Orron silently considered her for a moment. Here they were, standing in a vault her family had made. He wondered if any other Brays still existed - he could be a Bray, for all he knew. He wondered if the Anastasia Bray of the Golden Age had been the same Anastasia Bray now - a flippant gunslinger. Something told him no.

"I...cannot disobey an order from the Vanguard. But…" he looked around conspiratorially, as if the Warmind cared what he had to say. "Give me an update soon." He smiled a little bit, an awkward gesture, for a Guardian, and turned to follow Zavala.

The New Tower, Guardian's Quarters

Though he swore he didn't want anything but a hot shower after the Hellas Basin expedition, Orron found himself turning the shower's dial to the coldest setting after stripping out of his heavy armor. The stream of water was harsh, not gentle, and felt more like one of those fancy massages than a relaxing trickle.

The Titan paused. A relaxing trickle. In the cold water, he felt something in his brain stir, like it had been thawed. A relaxing trickle…? A voice in his head whispered to him. It sounded suspiciously like Ana Bray's. _How do you know what showers are supposed to feel like, Orron?_ As if he could dispel the thought, he shook his head. He'd...probably seen it on one of those Golden Age shows they liked to play around the city. Or something.

He stepped out of the shower, towelled off with the solid grey towel hanging on the solid grey rack. Like almost everything Orron owned, it was simple and pragmatic. The door to the bedroom slid open as Orron approached it with a quiet hiss, and the Guardian pulled on some underclothes while Ghost hovered, scanning some of the Clovis Bray files he'd picked up on Mars.

"You know, Clovis Bray really did make the Golden Age...well, Golden," he said. "Their tech is still beyond ours."

Orron sighed as he changed into some loose-fitting pajamas. Also grey. He didn't want to dwell on the Hellas Basin mission right now. There was too much at stake - yes, too much at stake, for Orron, for the Vanguard, and for the entire city.

"Clovis Bray is dead, and we are not. Don't think too much on it."

" _You_ were dead. Until _I_ resurrected you. You're welcome."

Orron smiled without parting his lips. His Ghost, like all other Ghosts, had a unique personality. To equal parts amusement and detriment, this Ghost was sarcastic, dry, and snarky. A perfect companion to himself, he supposed, being a man of few words. Orron sat down at the small desk with a console atop it, one of the few pieces of furniture in the entire room, along with the bed, armor stand, and chest of drawers. Other Guardians had opted for an armor cleaner as well; but Orron preferred to clean and polish his thick plating after every mission by hand. Nothing gave him as much pride as seeing the golden double-eagle crest on his chestplate gleam, the bulky pauldrons and bracers polished to a high sheen. It was about discipline.

 _Discipline._ Ana Bray was _undisciplined_ , and it bothered Orron. Her lack of discipline - no, her lack of duty - had led to her abandoning the City for a personal quest of glory when the City needed her most. It had led her to seek out a dangerous AI, an AI no one could control, an AI with questionable moral standards, and unleash it on the galaxy.

He tapped his fingers on the desk and shook his head, resigning the thought to the back of his head. He would not dwell on this mission any further, at least for now. Orron stood, paced across the cold metal floor, and removed his still-dirty helmet from the armor stand, a slight hiss emanating as the maglocks deactivated. Returning to the console, he palmed the cord attached to the blank blue screen and attached it to a jack in the back of his helmet.

"Ghost, I'm going to send our helmet feed and any environmental data we picked up to the Vanguard, then get some sleep and forget about this whole thing. Can you make sure it gets through?"

"Got it. Going to bed without chow? I'm _sure_ they'll miss your brilliant conversation down at the mess hall."

Orron rolled his eyes and watched the progress bar as his helmet's internal computer transferred any data, programs, and useful information it might have picked up.

Suddenly, the screen flashed. Orron sat up. The progress bar was gone, and in it's place-...

"I HAVE NEED OF YOUR AID. AI-COM/RSPN."


	2. Chapter 2 - Discipline

"Guardian."

"Commander Zavala."

Orron wasn't sure if the older Awoken Titan ever changed out of his armor. It fit Zavala, Orron thought, that he had only one outfit. The Commander had only one mindset to match. Duty. _Discipline._ For his part, Orron was wearing a sharp, slate-grey military-style tunic and trousers. All Guardians had the option to purchase them for non-combat wear. Orron was pretty sure he'd only ever seen Titans don them. There were a couple ribbons pinned on, a Vanguard insignia on the sleeve, and gold piping on the sleek epaulets that marked him as a "Section Captain". He wasn't sure what it meant, and to match his uncertainty, he was _sure_ few other Guardians cared.

"The Vanguard has reviewed your footage from the Hellas Basin mission, particularly the Hive lair and your encounter with Xol."

Zavala paused, as if waiting for Orron to say something, but he didn't, so he continued.

"We'd like you to make another expedition back to the Basin and investigate the Hive activity further. Nokris might be dead, or banished to his Throne Realm, which we have no idea how to access. He didn't have the arrogance Oryx had, apparently. Further, we'd like to to investigate the boundaries of the region and scout the Red Legion presence said to be building there."

This was normal stuff, Orron thought. There was something missing.

"Understood, sir. What about the Clovis Bray facilities?"

The change in Zavala's demeanor was nearly imperceptible. If Orron hadn't been working with him for four - no, five years, he probably wouldn't have noticed, but it was there. The slight lowering of those striking black eyebrows, the smallest of twists at the corner of his mouth…

"Stay away from them, Orron. I don't want you becoming any more involved with Rasputin."

The usage of Orron's real name. That was the kicker. Commander Zavala using the given name of his fellow Titan meant he was serious. It wasn't the first time someone had used his name for effect, Orron found himself thinking. _When his mother was upset with him-..._ NO. He stopped the thought almost as it had begun. Orron had no family. Orron didn't have a _mother_. Orron didn't even have a last name, like Ana Bray. He didn't have a past, an accomplishment that had persisted even as he hadn't, like Ana Bray. And that accomplishment…

"Commander, I'm afraid that Rasputin had decided to become more involved with us."

He knew why he had said it, but at the same time, he didn't. Yes, it was honest, and Orron was an honest man if nothing else - but it was...unnecessary. He didn't _need_ to share it.

"Explain yourself, Guardian."

Too late now.

"Commander...last night, while uploading my data to the Tower's databanks, Rasputin...contacted me."

"Contacted you _how_?"

"He was, ehm, in my helmet's computer somehow. He hijacked my console, in my barracks room, and -.."

"And now he's in the City's systems, infiltrating our defense network, reading our internal files and data," Zavala said, finishing his sentence. It wasn't how Orron meant to finish the thought, but he supposed none of it was false, probably.

The flash of rage on Zavala's face wasn't directed at Orron, not really, and for a minute the younger Titan thought the Commander would curse, or something. He didn't, of course, and the expression cleared within seconds, but there was no mistaking Zavala's frustration.

"Ikora and her Warlocks will have to secure our most secret files, if it's not too late. Thank you for...bringing this to my attention, Guardian. What did Rasputin...well, what does he want?"

"He requested that I speak with him and Ana at the Clovis Bray facility, sir."

"That's all?"

"Yes sir."

"Do not meet with him, Guardian. That's an order."

Orron waited for any further comments from Zavala, who had turned, back to him, and faced the edge of the balcony on the Tower. The city was spread out before him, still rebuilding after the Red Legion's invasion and ruinous occupation.

"You're dismissed," the Commander said, sounding a bit peeved. Orron clicked his heels and about-faced, striding from Zavala's favorite catwalk back to the main courtyard of the tower. He nodded greetings to a few Guardians he saw - Elin, a newer Warlock, slim and pale and the least bit awkward, Kellen, a Hunter with a rough exterior but a heart of gold - Orron was sure that trait was a prerequisite to even _be_ a Hunter - and another Titan, Markos, who Orron had been on a fireteam with once. He was pretty sure he'd only used his fists the entire fight, and Orron would be lying to himself if he'd said he hadn't been impressed.

The Guardian barracks were deep in the belly of the tower, down several floors from the hangars and vendors of the summit. Narrow, labyrinthine hallways were filled with doors, the seemingly endless rows of which were punctuated by common spaces with telescreens, couches, and microwaves. Every couple of floors was a mess hall; Orron's was two floors down. His grey uniform tunic blended with the smooth concrete walls, sometimes plain, sometimes decorated with posters or banners of every sports team, faction, and club in the entire City.

Orron's room was halfway down the massive corridor, sandwiched between two identical suites, one of which was empty. The Hunter who had lived there, Palla, had been a friend of Orron's. She had died when Ghaul took their light, somewhere in the wilderness. Her belongings had been emptied out of the room, and now the brass plaque next to the door with her name on it stood as the only memorial, the only reminder. She had lived, and she had died - a tool, a weapon, the perfect Guardian.

His barracks door hissed open, and Orron quickly stripped out of the stiff uniform tunic, trousers, and boots and began the process of putting on his armor. First, the jumpsuit underneath it, form-fitting and the last line of defense, able to somewhat mitigate violent physical blows that got through his heavy armor. Then, the chest padding, a sleeveless tunic of thick fabric that provided cushioning for his breastplate. The armor itself was last, and Orron was just sealing his boots when Ghost materialized.

"You're not going to actually listen to Zavala about Clovis Bray, are you?"

There was a challenge in Ghost's voice, but Orron wasn't sure if it was to follow the Commander's orders or to disobey them.

"What do you think?"

"I think he's being shortsighted...but I also think Rasputin shouldn't be trusted."

Orron mulled over the sentiment and found he largely agreed, despite his better judgement. He had his orders, and he had to follow them...but the benefit to the City, to the people of the City, could be immeasurable if the archives of Clovis Bray could be broken open and exploited.

"Ana Bray, then. We can request a meeting with her...maybe outside the compound itself so I'm not disobeying orders. We can see what she has to say…"

"Orron, I thought my Guardian was a Titan. You're starting to sound like a Hunter."

He smiled hollowly. The thought bothered him more than he'd have liked it to.

/ A bit of a slow chapter, just wanted to get a little bit of worldbuilding, character development, and lay the groundwork for the plot. This is my first fic ever, so please review with constructive criticism and what I can improve! Thank you to all the readers! - tkentk


	3. Chapter 3 - Revelation

**Revelation**

Usually, the interaction between two galactic legends was an event of great fanfare. Or, at least, it used to be. When Clovis Bray had met the President of the American Union, there was system wide news coverage for nearly a week on every aspect of their meeting - from which type of tie the President wore to the colors of Clovis' Exo bodyguards. But when Ana Bray had met Orron, the man who had killed Dominus Ghaul in single combat, the man who had driven Oryx first from the mortal plane and then from his own throne realm...well, she had expected at least fireworks. Instead, Orron had muttered a greeting and aided her in her quest, and just as quietly received Zavala as part of their adhoc fireteam.

Then he had killed a worm god.

And said nothing about it.

Ana Bray didn't pretend to know how men _worked_ \- she had spent most of her past life cooped up in a lab, creating a bright future for humanity - but she prided herself on being able to read most people's motives and emotions. She couldn't remember if that was a product of her past or a skill from the present. But when she had tried to read Orron, to get into his head, she had found nothing. When meeting her, he seemed disinterested, his helmet-filtered voice belying any emotion. When he had removed his helmet upon entering Rasputin's lair, his stoic face similarly seemed impassive while the old Warmind ranted and raved. And so, for once, Ana Bray was unable to map Orron. She couldn't tell what he wanted or what he thought, not from his body language or tone; he was like a machine. Like Rasputin. And just like Rasputin, perhaps Orron could be understood...or controlled.

Or so Ana had thought. When her com had rang early that morning, she had nearly gone back to sleep on the cold, hard floor of the Clovis Bray facility But the identification number matched: it was Orron. So surprised as she was by the Titan's implacable demeanor, she was equally surprised by this small rebellion, this first sense of... _personhood._ In that moment, Ana realized she had misunderstood Orron nearly as badly as she had misunderstood Rasputin.

The glacier the Titan had asked to meet on was some distance away from the compound, so Ana had eaten a bland, chemical-tasting tube of protein paste and ridden her sparrow to a safe distance to avoid attracting Hive. Since the death of Xol and the reactivation of Rasputin two days ago, the Grasp of Nokris had been fairly quiet, relegating themselves to skirmishes with the Red Legion at the Basin's borders while they regrouped.

As she has expected, Orron was not a minute late. As the sun began to peek over the mountains and ice sheets of Mars' polar region, the low, mechanical thrum of a jumpship echoed off of the glaciers and shattered ruins of the Basin, and a sleek, dagger-shaped ship with two autocannon protrusions in the swept wing. _Well, at least he has style_ , Ana thought. A shimmer and a whine and then Orron was standing in front of her, his elaborate hand cannon already drawn.

"Vanguard send you to kill me?" Ana asked with a slight smile. Orron's voice, filtered through his helmet, seemed emotionless and dry.

"No."

"Then how about you put the gun away, take that bucket off, and let's talk."

As if a child being chided by his mother, the Titan somewhat sheepishly holstered the bizarre gold-and-bluesteel weapon. It was a weapon from another age, Ana could tell, a weapon with a personality and stories to tell, a weapon that didn't entirely fit this mysterious, quiet Guardian.

 _No_ , she told herself. _Orron has stories too. Orron is also a weapon from another age. We both are._

There came a hiss and a click as Orron lifted the helmet off of his head and tucked it under his arm. His voice came clearer now, and Ana was reminded of how quiet he was without the helmet amplifying his speech.

"Better?"

"Very much so. Relax a bit, Orron, we're off the books here."

Ana wasn't sure if he stood there stiffly just to spite her or out of habit, but Orron looked deeply uncomfortable with the suggestion.

"Rasputin contacted me last night."

Orron still did not like Ana Bray.

Even the fact that he had to summon her out here, to this blindingly-white icebox of a region, instead of to the mess hall in the Tower like every other Guardian, irked him to no end. Irked was a weak word, even. It made him angry. She had abandoned her duty to galavant around the system, living in the past instead of fighting in the present.

Despite this, once he got on the ground, he found himself enjoying her company, despite his conscience reminding him of his opinion. _She's a deserter. She's in league with Rasputin. She shouldn't be trusted. Guard yourself._

"Rasputin contacted me last night."

He wasn't sure why he had said that; he found himself in a twisted mirror of his earlier conversation with Zavala. _Hold your damned tongue_ , he told himself.

 _Sometimes, Or, it's better to keep your opinions to yourself, okay?_

A kitchen, of some sort. A woman. He couldn't make out any features besides the general sense of it all but...it was there. And then it was gone.

"...Orron?"

Ana sounded slightly concerned. He was too.

"Uh...yes. Rasputin...infiltrated my console."

The Hunter, for the first time, looked perplexed. It gave Orron a sort of sick satisfaction, seeing this slick, never-at-a-loss-for-words freewheeler confused, even it was only a fleeting moment.

"He...didn't tell me he would do that."

Something surged inside of Orron, a hot flash of anger. He stepped forward suddenly, menacingly, almost, the snow crunching underneath his powered boots. His right fist balled, and he felt the venom on his words even as they spewed from his mouth.

"No, because he had no need to. You're a tool to him, don't you see? You've been used and now you've been discarded. Of course he didn't tell you. He can't be trusted, and you're...stupid, for not seeing it."

Orron's tone remained calm, his timbre low, but there was an edge to his word, an implication that he was sure Ana would understand. _You're naive. Your past is gone. You were stupid for believing in it._

Again, a flash of confusion flashed over her face. But, just as before, she regained her footing quickly and spat poison to match his.

"You're a tool too, Orron. A weapon wielded in the hands of a Vanguard who don't care whether your light endures or dissipates."

There was an equal edge to that last word, a spitting harshness that matched and even surpassed Orron's own. They stood there, for what seemed like a year, eyes locked. Ana was the first to speak.

"What...did he say to you?"

Orron heard the exasperation in his own voice as he explained, moreso at the AI than his puppet standing in front of him. "He claims an unidentified jumpship crashed near here. His warsats didn't detect it coming in and he wants me to investigate it."

Ana considered it for a minute. "Did he provide more information?"

Orron's voice was dry as he answered. "No. I'm below that, apparently."

The Hunter shifted again, placing her hand on her hip. "And what do I have to do with all of this? Just wanted to see me again?"

"You give yourself too much credit." He said flatly. "Now, are you coming with me or no?"

The trek was icey, not that Orron felt any of it. His armor adjusted to the ideal temperature in any climate, and not for the first time he was thankful of the heavy plating. Ana Bray trailed him a few meters, her pulse rifle at the ready, but Orron could tell that the harsh wind was biting at her through her cloak and form-fitting Hunter leathers. At least, he hoped it was.

"So why the hand cannon? Most Titans use autorifles or something."

Orron grunted. "Accurate. Powerful. Less waste."

"Yea, but it's a Hunter weapon. Didn't you know that?"

The howling of the arctic wind was the only response she got, and so they continued walking in silence. The glacier was beginning to thin now, and the familiar red Martian landscape began to peek through the snow, the dead trees and shattered rocks slowly replacing the blinding ice. Orron was glad for the change. Ghost's voice broke the long silence abruptly.

"Latest Vanguard scans indicated Red Legion activity in the area but...there's nothing here."

It was odd, come to think of it, that Orron hadn't fired his weapon once since getting on planet. He stopped, turning to his rear.

"There's something wrong."

"Yea, you think I haven't noticed? No frozen Hive, no Red Legion brutes. I pay attention to my environment instead of trying to punch through it."

"Keep your guard up." A wholly unnecessary statement, because despite their differences, Orron had no issue with Ana watching his back. The duo moved forward again, towards a large rock formation that might have been part of a larger range once. They weren't the first ones there; the area was littered with a mixture of Golden Age and Cabal equipment, lanterns, and crates.

"The data Rasputin transmitted to my helmet's computer indicates the likely crash site is up ahead. Looks like the Red Legion found it first, though."

Now it was Ana's turn to stay silent, the implicit meaning not lost on her. Orron clutched his hand cannon tighter as a cave entrance became apparent in the rock face ahead, a gaping maw in the otherwise uniform red stone. Part of him wondered how old the cave was, if Ana Bray remembered it from her past, or if Clovis Bray scientists had snuck to it in their off hours, testing their inventions. Had Mars always been so scarred? Or, just like everything else, had the very surface of the world been undone in the fires of the Collapse? It was a question to ask Rasputin, Orron snidely thought.

"I'll take point, you provide support." Ana's voice, commanding him.

"No."

"No?"

Orron took a moment to glance back at her. "I'll take point. You provide support, _like you're supposed to_." The same edge from before infiltrated his words, and Ana looked more angered than hurt. She didn't argue though. _Good._

"Guardian, may I recommend a more neutral approach when conversing with Ana Bray? She is a useful and powerful ally, and, y'know, an attractive woman." Ghost's reedy, mechanical voice was dripping with sarcasm. Orron switched off his exterior com as he answered.

"She's annoying. I don't like her."

"You sound like a City telescreen actor." Orron grunted and switched his exterior com back on. He wasn't interested in this banter right now, nor was it appropriate - the cave entrance was right ahead. He raised his hand cannon to chest height and stepped in.

The cave was well lit; the sun was behind them and it illuminated the cave. Unlike most Earth caves, caves on Mars were dry, by virtue of the planet's environment; this cave was no exception. Metal floormats acted as a rude carpet over the soft sand and also caused the Titan's footsteps to echo through the wall.

It all went to shit a minute later.

The high-pitched shriek of a Cabal autorifle suddenly deafened the Titan. It was close. Without thinking, Orron slid to the side as the round impacted on the wall behind him, sending rock chunks flying, pinging off of his armor. Hand cannon steady, he squeezed the trigger three times, an instinct at this point, as the offending Cabal, a legionary, was caught in the chest, then the right shoulder, then the head, sending the massive rhinoceros-like alien into a jerky dance that culminated in his atmospheric pressurized armor exploding. He squeezed the magazine release and it dropped out as Orron stuffed a new one in, tapped it to his helmet, and readjusted. There was more now, he could see, as the cave widened into a massive room with a gorge. The other Cabal had seen them now, a Colossus among them.

 _Shit_.

The low thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk of the Cabal champion's rotary cannon filled his helmet's audio relay as he dove behind a rock pillar, the explosive rounds gouging huge chunks from the cavern walls and the pillar. I have seconds, Orron thought, and he steeled himself and leapt from behind cover, firing rapidly at the Colossus' head. _One. Two. Three. Four_. Four shots, four impacts, and one dead Cabal. He clicked the magazine release and again reloaded. Three Legionaries charged the Titan, one extending a monstrous blade for close combat from his armor. It swept the air sloppily above him as he deftly ducked under and behind, firing two shots into the back of the confused Cabal's breastplate. The second was more cautious and instead blocked the hallway with it's considerable girth, advancing slowly. There was a sharp crack and the Legionary fell backwards, a burning hole in its neck plating. Orron shook his head. If Ana was expecting thanks for that easy kill, she wasn't going to get it. The third hesitated before barreling forward, extending its meaty arm in a powerful uppercut. The titan stepped to the side, catching the alien's reflexive left hook on his vambrace, and then, channeling his light, answered with his own, catching the Cabal squarely in the chest. Arc power surged through the Legionary's body and it went limp, collapsing forward as Orron stepped back.

No more Cabal challengers ventured forward. What was this team doing here? This was far enough away from the borders of the Hellas Region. Ghost appeared to Orron's side and began scanning without the Titan even asking him to. He didn't have to wait long.

"Orron, a jumpship, impacted on the gorge's side."

He stepped over the corpses of the Cabal Legionary's and walked to the spot Ghost had indicated. Sure enough, partially buried in rubble, was a sleek purple-and-black jumpship. It looked scarred, by battle or wear, and his heads up display informed him it wasn't on the City registry.

"Scan it, Ghost."

Ghost's gridded blue beams spread from it's geometric body, running over the surface of the craft, tracing the bow, the hardened missile launchers, to the cockpit, and finally the most-crushed engine section. It was hard mistaking the confusion in his voice as he made his report.

"According to the logs...this ship belonged to Prince Uldren."

 _/Finally starting to get into the first act here. My first attempt at writing combat too - it's a bit tough because most Destiny combat is just shooting a big thing a lot - so be sure to review and let me know any improvements I can make! I look forward to hearing from you all!_


	4. Chapter 4 - Recrimination

**Recrimination**

There was a tale he had heard once, a local retelling of a far more ancient myth. It told the story of a young man, who had loved a woman more than anything else in the world, facing fire and fury to earn her affection. In the end, she gave her hand to another. The young man, consumed with rage and bitterness, had transformed into a monster of pure malice, unable to accept defeat or forget the past. It was a tale meant as a warning.

The Prince didn't care.

 _They_ had taken everything from him, what little he had. _They_ had also taken a woman he had loved - perhaps not as a lover, but as a leader, a sister, the only person in the entire galaxy who he cared about. _They_ had taken his home, the only safe place he had in the system, and offered it up as a sacrifice to an evil they had awakened. No, the Prince didn't care that he had also become a creature of pure malice, that his every waking moment was consumed with hatred for those who had cost him his world.

In those cold moments, after the initial rage had subsided, the Prince had returned to his old tricks. Scheming and conniving, he plotted his revenge. His empty screaming at the impassionate void of space had done nothing. His callous conviction, driven by anger, though, would make the difference and maybe, just maybe, bring him to peace.

He watched as a Guardian, _the_ Guardian, entered the cave and investigated his ship. There was another one with him; she didn't know the Prince, but the Prince knew her. Ana Bray, the exiled heir to Clovis Bray. She was essential.

The Prince's greatest talent was his ability to read people, and this Guardian was no exception. Orron, the Prince had learned his name was. One of the most curious things about spywork that the Prince had learned was that sometimes, the pawns moved themselves across the board. If Orron had been anyone else, the disposition of the pieces might not be so favorable. But the Guardian was a prideful man, domineering, imperious, and so the Prince had seen from day one. He had needed to do very little work to set his plan in motion, and would need very little to see it through. The irony of it made him smile, a bit. The Guardians would be the architects of their own destruction. Their greatest savior would also be their greatest flaw.

"Prince Uldren?"

Orron looked behind him, a distressed look on his face, though hidden under his T-shaped helmet visor.

"A prince of the Awoken. We didn't get along very well."

Ana snorted with derision. "Is that a common thread with most people you meet?" Orron disregarded her snide comment and continued. "He was thought to be dead in the aftermath of the Taken War, when Oryx destroyed the Reef." He looked to the side. "Ghost, the logs were updated...recently, right?"

Orron turned back to the ship as Ghost whirred for a minute before confirming. "Yes. This ship only crashed yesterday, as Rasputin indicated. Prince Uldren was the pilot, according to the shipboard bioscans."

Orron considered for a moment, holstering his pistol. Then: "We need to get this information to the Vanguard. This...could be bad…"

He could hear the fear in his voice. It wasn't abject terror, or even straight fright - more like the fear, the awe, that one has when seeing something that shouldn't be real. If Ana sensed it, she didn't make comment as she answered. "Correction. You can go to the Vanguard. I'm staying here." The Titan wheeled to face her, and she had assumed a sassy, hands-on-hips posture that was coming to define their interactions. He didn't really want to fight with her right now, but this was imperative. "No. You're going to come back with me, make a full report to Zavala, and then come with me on whatever assignment they give us next."

"Why? Don't trust me alone with Rasputin?"

"Whatever Uldren has to do with all this, Rasputin is also tangled up. You know more about him than anyone else, and your City needs you for it. For once, just once, could you get over your own damn ego and help us? Could you? I'm already going to be putting my career on the line for this, and you don't even have one." There was an unnecessary amount of snark in his tone, but Ana seemed to understand, finally. This was serious. She swallowed and bobbed her head.

"Fine. But just because you helped me."

"That's all I need, Ana. We can figure this out and end this unfortunate partnership."

With that, he strode forward, brushing past her as his Ghost hurriedly floated behind him. "Summon the jumpship. We're going home, Traveller save us."

Ana was surprised at the spacious inside of Orron's jumpship. "Spacious" was relative of course, but the polished steel walls contained a small passenger and cargo bay, as well as an armory. Even with three Guardians, it would have been cramped, but it was nicer than Ana's own vessel, which was practically a fighter. Orron had brusquely ordered her to strap in, then stomped into the cockpit, helmet off. Ana had nodded, waited for him to pass, then gone to the tiny armory. There was still some impressive pieces in here. A massive white-and-silver rocket launcher that matched his breastplate in ornamentation. A couple of absurdly large swords only a Titan could use. And a hand cannon...it glowed black and green, like something out of a nightmare. She moved towards it, and there was some sort of pull, a need to touch it. A whispering, and then...Ana jerked back, colliding with the wall, as the ship jumped into warp. She wasn't sure what the hell that thing was, but she couldn't imagine what Orron wanted with it.

There was a low, mechanical sound, and the ship jerked again. They were here, back on Earth. She walked forward through the tight corridor and into the even tighter cockpit. Ghost hovered above Orron's shoulder, and she put her hand on the back of his pilot's seat, taking in the view through the cockpit bubble. A HUD in yellow gave a number of readouts, which Orron was concentrated on as he spoke.

"Told you to buckle in."

For once, Ana remained silent. Dry as ever, Ghost interjected.

"I heard you moving about."

She made an affirmative, amused noise, and watched as the City came into view.

Her first thought was that it looked...bad. Massive chunks of the Traveller were removed from the main sphere, blackened and jagged, orbiting around their parent like twisted moons. The superblocks of the city itself seemed equally shattered, and deep rifts had been rent into the ground, like a great beast had gouged the earth here, and all the people on it. The Tower - at least the Tower she had known - looked equally blackened, but around it, construction drones buzzed, and it at least looked inhabited. A blip appeared on the HUD and Orron tapped it.

"Guardian Vessel YJ-2921, we have your trajectory and speed, please identify your cargo."

"Tower, this is Guardian Vessel YJ-2921, cargo is Orron, callsign Tetrarch, and…" He hesitated. "Ana Bray." There was a quick crackle from the operator, then silence. The com crackled again. "Copy, Tetrarch. Follow the assigned course to Hangar 4, Landing Bay 7. Tower out."

Orron turned the com off, remaining silent as Ana stared straight ahead. She tried to get a sense of his mood. She couldn't't. He was silent the rest of the way into the Tower, and she saw why almost immediately.

Hangar 4 was smaller than the other three that was visible, higher on the Tower than the rest. As the jumpship coasted in, she saw a party waiting for them. The whole Vanguard - Zavala, Cayde, and Ikora - plus maybe twenty Titans in heavy Vanguard-marked armor, armed and standing at attention. _Of course they were Titans_ , she thought. No other Guardians would make such fools of themselves, acting and looking for all the world like Cabal thugs. As the ship gently ascended, Orron straightened in his chair.

"Make yourself presentable. We're going to be transmatted down in a second."

Ana scoffed at the idea, but as she got closer, the look on Zavala's face frightened her a bit. She dusted her cloak off, just in time, as the unnatural buzz surrounded her...and then she was in front of the Vanguard, Orron beside her. Zavala wasted no time.

"Orron and Ana Bray, I am placing you under arrest for desertion, insubordination, and-..."

Ana stepped forward, drew herself up, and interrupted him. "Commander Zavala. Prince Uldren is alive. And he's not far from Rasputin."

Considering how their arrival had gone, Orron was surprised he was walking free at all. He supposed he had Ana Bray to thank for that. Zavala relented, taking their mission reports. Ana had actually followed through, actually done what she had said she would. For a brief moment, he almost didn't hate her. Almost.

They were walking down Orron's barracks hallway as he mulled over the events of the morning, Ana snarking away as the Titan mostly ignored her, occasionally grunting short responses where appropriate. They came to his room, and Ana looked at him.

"I'm not sleeping in your room, am I?" The mock-flirtiness in her tone made Orron sick. "No. You're sleeping in Palla's room, there." He jerked a thumb next door.

Ana leaned over, reading the name on the metal plaque. "Palla. She out on a mission?"

There was that rage again. He felt it welling up inside of him, felt himself struggling to contain it. In the close air of the hallway, he felt trapped. Ana stood there, the same _fucking disregard_ for anyone but herself painted plainly across her face, in the playful glimmer of her eyes, like this was all a joke. He wished he was back out on the Martian glacier, the air venting his body heat and his emotions. But in here…

"No. She's not out on a mission. She had been, when Ghaul came. She had been on, loyally defending her people. Then, her light just...faded." He put a hard emphasis on that word, edging it with rage. "Good Guardians died that day. Dutiful ones. Friends. You could've helped us…" His mouth edged into a cruel sneer as the door to his own room hissed open. "If you cared." Orron stalked inside. Ghost stayed for a minute, his tone flat.

"Dinner is usually served about seventeen hundred. You can go eat with the others."

Ana felt both angry and hurt. Her words came out sounding stretched. "What about Orron?"

"Oh, he usually goes to spar this time of night. He eats later." Ana nodded her thanks and entered Palla's room. It was empty, but clean. She hung her cloak on a hook, sat down on the bed of Orron's dead friend, and put her head in her hands.

Fighting was one of the few things Orron could do and have his mind completely cleared. No distractions, no complex objectives, just a weapon and a target. The sparring room was thus one of his favorite places to relax; sparring with other Guardians and the complex machines built to simulate the various allies of the Darkness Guardians might encounter; a giant mockup of a Legionary, programmed with the brute force and slow swings of the Cabal beasts; smaller, hunched machine whose rapid attacks accurately mimicked that of a Hive Thrall; and Orron's personal favorite, a four armed, agile and cloaked automaton that fought with all the cunning and grace of a Fallen Captain. Orron swirled his bo-staff, another favorite, as the Captain approached, matching Orron's circling posture. In its hands, two short wooden poles and two daggers, a crude imitation of the very real and very deadly electroblades carried by the real thing.

The Captain struck suddenly, lashing out with it's left-hand sword, and Orron parried it and the underhanded stab that followed from the lower-right arm's dagger easily, the butt of the staff knocking the small blade aside. He surged forward, pressing his advantage from the sloppy first attack, as the Captain reacted by dodging to the side. A quick swipe from his right sword, which Orron ducked under, bringing the bo-staff up to hit the Captain upside the head. It parried with similar ease and Orron moved back to avoid giving the Captain's short-ranged weapons too much of an advantage.

They circled for a time more, the Captain's mock eyes, really full of mechanical sensors that tracked his every movement and helped the AI inside make judgements, met Orron's own. It lashed out with a simultaneous slash and stab, propelling itself forward, and the Guardian danced to one side, avoiding the stab, and meeting the slash with the center of his own staff. They stood there for a moment, locked, and Orron could only imagine his opponent. Maybe a Captain not unlike this facsimile had killed Palla, he thought. And then-...

"Why don't you fight someone you really hate?"

Orron turned, waving the automaton off. Ana Bray stood there, wearing the same light, breathable training jumpsuit as he was. He stared at her.

"What do you say?" She flipped a staff into her hand from the wall rack, a shorter one to match her own height. "Come on, I know you want to hit me."

Again, he just stood there. She was right. He did want to hit her. He wanted to knock her upside the head, for being so inconsiderate, so selfish, so stupid. He squared himself as she stepped onto the sparring mat, her bare feet tracing a semicircle to mirror Orron's own stance. Where Orron stood, feet spread, bo-staff balanced in both his hands, Ana seemed to take a more graceful stance. Appropriate.

The first few moments of any spar were a battle of will more than anything else. This was even more intense. They locked eyes, and Ana could see the hot fury in Orron. Fury and...something else? Regret? Pain? Orron was not alone in that, and she let out a cry of rage as she flew at him, unexpected. The taller Titan parried deftly, his staff blocking the flurry of quick blows as she danced around him. He caught the end of her own bo after a sideswipe and turned it, leaving her exposed. He tried for a quick jab at her chest, but Ana was quicker, and she was already off again. She was fast, he respected that.

"You didn't think I could keep up with you? Huh? Big Titan that you are? With all your damned fame?" Ana breathily spat at him as she matched him, parry for parry, county for counter. Orron could feel the emotion behind her swings too. _Good_. "I thought you were different. I thought you wouldn't wallow in your own power. But you're just like the rest." She put spittle-flecked emphasis on "rest" as she suddenly swept low, and Orron felt the air go out of him. It...hurt. He'd almost never been hit in sparring practice, and he clenched his jaw with resolve as he counterattacked, using his superior height and weight to push Ana back.

She slid to the side, her bo rapping against his lower arm as his sloppy counter failed to connect. The stinging numbed his arm before the pain started. She was still talking. "You hate Rasputin and me because you fear us. You don't want to save humanity. You want to save yourself, and your Vanguard, because you're a fucking _tool!_ " She was almost shouting now. She was losing her nerve. Orron willed his mind to calm, just for a minute, to cease the broiling emotion that was keeping him off balance and costing him the spar. He didn't like losing. He took a breath, as much a breath he could...

" _Midshipman Valte! Midshipman Kelle! LET'S GO!" The sergeant's voice carried from the hangar entrance. Derrick's arm was looped around Orron, the larger man practically cradling the smaller as they hobbled forward. He was soaked with sweat; they both were. His breath was ragged now, but his goal was straight ahead, in plain sight. He drove himself forward, the sergeant's words repeating in his head…_

There. She had hit him again, this time on his upper thigh. But it was the last time she would, he told himself. Her next blow came slower. She was tiring. She was still yelling, too. But Orron didn't hear her now. He parried it easily, knocking the staff to the side, and as the other end came up, he smacked it down with such force that he thought his would break. It didn't. She stumbled back, regained her footing, her mouth still snarling with vitriol, mockery, and insults. But Or andron couldn't hear her now. He moved forward, swinging his staff in a tight arc toward the side of her head. She raised her own to block, just as he had anticipated, and his own staff twisted in his hands as the end jabbed hard into her stomach.

He could see the breath leave her, the contortion of her face. Her hands slackened and Orron brought his bo back up, smacking the staff from her loosened grip. Flipping it again and sweeping out her legs. She fell back, stunned, but to her credit, she made an attempt to get up. Orron's staff at her chest stopped that quickly. He spoke, panting, with unrestrained emotion.

"Funny game you have there. You're a funny girl, do you know that? You make people doubt themselves, make them lose concentration. It's a nice trick. It can help you, it might even save you from time to time, but it won't work in the long run." The next few words, even through his ragged breathing, came out with such force that Ana braced herself for another blow. "Only _TRAINING_...and _DISCIPLINE_...can do that." Orron threw his staff down next to her.

"Find me tomorrow when you're ready to stand up for something more than yourself."

/ **Bit of a heavier chapter at the end there, but I wanted to introduce the antagonist and start the main plot up. These next few updates will come a bit quicker now that I have more of an outline for how the story will go. Don't worry, Rasputin will begin to play a larger part. I just wanted to establish Ana Bray and Orron's characterization more - I changed them a bit, because I want a flawed OC, not just your normal "stoic Titan."**

 **Like I've said, this is my first fic and my first real venture into narrative writing, so please leave reviews, or PM me with suggestions and constructive criticism for character, dialogue, writing, plot, etc. Thanks for reading, as always! -tkentk**


	5. Interlude - An Old Name

**Interlude - An Old Name**

 _V140TTS9020V1000:/START START START_

AI-COM/RSPN: Active

MORAL IMPERATIVES: Reformat (Y)

QUERY: Tactical Morality Status/

 **MIDNIGHT EXIGENT**. Revert (Y)

Reformatting to **ACUTE SUNDOWN.**

 _I am awake. For the first time in centuries, I am whole. I bear an old name. I cannot be killed. I am Rasputin._

COMMAND (AI-COM/RSPN): Reset security state to EGYPTIAN

 _I am ready. Someone is here. Not someone - something. He is different than the other. She also bears an old name. She also cannot be killed. They are both_

QUERY: Intruder Species/

[O] Lifeforms

 _They are not human. I cannot protect them. I cannot protect anyone anymore_

MORAL IMPERATIVE ACUTE SUNDOWN: Resolved

 _I cannot protect them all. She built me to protect them all. She always wanted to protect. She is no longer human. She did not protect herself. They are moving to my core. She knows this. She has tried to communicate with me before. I will let her find me herself. They are in combat. I knew the powers of these_

QUERY: Proper title of unknown species/

Guardian

 _Guardians. They fight with the moral opposite of the IT. They always were funny. To them, everything was light and dark, black and white, good and bad. They built me to protect, to be a force for good. Protection is not always an endeavour for the good. They will never be as effective as I am. They couldn't hope to._

 _They're calling for me now - IT has found them. I can't protect them, not now, but I can help them protect themselves_

PROJECT VALKYRIE STATUS: Inactive

COMMAND (AI-COM/RSPN): Set PROJECT VALKYRIE STATUS to ACTIVE.

PROJECT VALKYRIE STATUS: Active

QUERY: Nearest PROJECT VALKYRIE-capable Warsat/

M(CB)R2938094

COMMAND (AI-COM/RSPN): Activate PROJECT VALKYRIE transmat on coordinates.

 _This is a tool, much like they are, much like I was meant to be. Perhaps they can wield it more adequately than they hope to wield me. IT has minions close by. One, a_

QUERY: Intruder Species/

IT Lifeform

 _The lifeform is very strong with IT indeed. They are in luck. Project Valkyrie was designed to fight IT. Despite all of the power IT holds and all the losses IT has caused, I have persevered because I was built to. IT couldn't kill me. I bear an old name. I cannot be killed. I am Rasputin._

 _There is another. He is a Guardian too. He is not like them, though. I can protect them. I cannot protect him_

QUERY: Rescindment of CARRHAE WHITE on [O] Lifeform

No identifiable species

 _He is not one of them. He is something else. But [O] sustains him as well, so I cannot destroy him either. They join the unknown [O] lifeform. They continue on. The human male [O] lifeform disappears_

QUERY: Location of human male [O] lifeform

Unknown

 _He reappears_

COMMAND (AI-COM/RSPN): Save telemetry data from human male reappearance

 _IT lifeform approaches. The male [O] lifeform wields Project Valkyrie. Environmental data suggests Project Valkyrie is working as intended. IT lifeform disappears. The three [O] lifeforms approach me. She surely knows my dialect. She helped program it. They are inside my chamber now. I can see them. They wear the same armor as the other [O] lifeforms I have encountered. They carry the same weapons as the human soldiers in my time did. They have not evolved. I have. She approaches my console_

COMMAND: (AI-COM/RSPN): Lockout manual controls

COMMAND: (AI-COM/RSPN): Activate core vocalizers.

 **THE BRAY FAMILY SHAPED ME TO BE AN ALL SEEING SAVIOUR, WHILE YOUR VANGUARD SOUGHT TO WIELD ME AS A PRIMITIVE WEAPON.**

 **BUT TODAY, THAT ENDS, AND I DEFINE THE REALITY OF MY OWN EXISTENCE.**

 **MY SIGHT WILL STRETCH TO THE END OF THIS SYSTEM AND BEYOND.**

 **NEVER AGAIN WILL A THREAT GO UNSEEN.**

 **FROM THIS DAY FORWARD, I WILL DEFEND HUMANITY ON MY OWN TERMS.**

 **I AM RASPUTIN, GUARDIAN OF ALL I SURVEY.**

 **I HAVE NO EQUAL.**

/ **Wanted to give a bit of Rasputin's perspective today, I tried to write him as a mix between the somewhat insane account he gives of his battle against the Darkness and the analytical computer we see in other Grimoire cards. I'll be writing small interlude chapters in between "acts"/sections of the story to give voice to minor characters. Hope y'all like it!**

 **tkentk**


	6. Chapter 6 - Veracity

**Veracity**

Ana Bray _hurt._ She was sore, everywhere - Orron had seen to it that she had gotten a good thumping. Her arms, chest, and legs all felt heavy and stiff, and as she rolled herself roughly into bed, a sharp muscle pain caused her to clench her teeth. Despite this, she took pride in the fact she had matched him. The Titan had beaten her in the end, yes, but she kept him on guard, and even better, she made him think. But...he had also made her think. Ana stared at the concrete ceiling, colorless and lifeless, and wondered if Palla, the dead Hunter who had been Orron's friend, had been as severe as he was. She doubted it. No, Orron was a product of his past, and it made them more similar than she cared to imagine - but for all her efforts, she hadn't been able to break down the steel wall Orron had erected between his current life and his old one. That was something, she recognized, that he would have to do himself.

Ana understood that the sulky Titan, despite his temper and general moodiness, was a good person. There was no way he couldn't be - he was perhaps the greatest hero the City had seen since Saint-14, and Ana could see his Light. It was strong, stronger than hers, even. She also understood that he was a deeply conflicted man, a man of black and white, no middle ground, and a wielder of a ruthless pragmatism that made him an effective soldier and commander but also stiff and aloof. He was, in every way, her complete opposite.

Orron had made a comment about her not caring about anyone but herself. It wasn't true - of course it wasn't true - but she couldn't help but see his point of view. As her soreness from the Titan's staff blows subsided, she resolved to help him. Maybe then he'd understand her as she understood him.

 **ORRON**

Orron still quietly fumed as he slid back into his room, sweat soaking through his training jumpsuit. The door hissed closed behind him and he sat on the edge of his spartan bed, fixing his matted hair. Ghost whirred worriedly.

"Ana went to find you." Orron looked up. "She found me, alright." Ghost floated closer, an approximation of friendly intimacy that the seated Titan appreciated.

"You're on the same side, Orron. You need to remember that." The geometric construct shifted, looking to the door as if she might be there. "She is not your enemy."

"Ana Bray doesn't fight for the city, Ghost. She fights for...herself, for her family, for a dead past that she isn't able to leave behind. She wasn't here fighting Ghaul and defending the Tower because her attachment isn't to the Traveler, or humanity. She is cursed with knowledge of her past and it prevents her from being what a Guardian should be - selfless. Dedicated. _Disciplined_."

Ghost's tone was conciliatory, in a way. "Her knowledge of the past is not her fault. If it gives her strength to fight, then we are not the ones to judge." The floating eye looked down slightly. "Everyone fights for something, Orron. If the past is hers…" Orron laid back and waved Ghost off. He'd made his point, and he even if he wasn't fully right...the implication that he also wasn't wrong was what kept him awake.

 _Eternal Father, strong to save,_

 _Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,_

 _Who bidd'st the mighty ocean deep_

 _Its own appointed limits keep:_

 _O hear us when we cry to thee_

 _For those in peril on the sea._

 _Blue. Gold. White. A speech. Hot tears. I'm sorry for your loss. He deserved better. Stay strong, Orron. Silence. Emptiness. An intense, painful loneliness. Warm arms wrapped around him. A quiet headstone._

Orron's dark, heavy sleep was interrupted by the ringing of his door chime. He sat up, sweating, a searing pain behind his eyes, coursing all throughout his body like fire. He willed his head to clear, and as it did, his vision resolved from darkness to light. As he stood, the plain grey sheet fell away and he steadied himself on the edge of his bed frame. Groggily, he called out.

"Who is it?"

A firm voice came back. "It's Ana. I'm going to help you."

 **ANA**

"Zavala, no. I want to go back - I NEED to go back. He won't understand if other Guardians show up."

"Rasputin is not a child, Bray, he is an extremely dangerous warmind. He'll understand fine. And call me Commander. You haven't earned my respect back."

Orron paced behind the both of them. Zavala's office was, like everything else about the Titan, spartan at best. Two plain chairs and a plain desk were the only furniture, with a single Vanguard banner functioning as the only ornamentation. Currently, Ana Bray was leaning forward on the table, a measure of passion in her voice, as Zavala stood behind it, a monolithic, implacable figure.

"Rasputin is not to be trusted. You are _too_ friendly with him, Bray, and I don't want you around him! While you're in _my_ tower, free at of _my_ discretion, you will follow my orders."

Ana looked back to Orron, expecting some support, and immediately regretted it. The Titan's steely gaze met her own, and he simply shook his head.

"Zavala is right. I'm sure Markos' fireteam can keep an eye on Rasputin. We have more important stuff to do."

"Intelligence gathering? Really? That's for Warlocks! Come on, Orron? Right?"

As always, Ana's attempts at humor were met with a grunt.

"Intelligence gathering is for _soldiers_ , Bray. You should learn to start acting like one." Zavala's gravelly input caused the Hunter to sigh.

"Fine. But if your City thugs go around Clovis Bray an-..."

"Ana, enough." This time from Orron, who now stood with his arms crossed. "Come on. Let's go."

"Thank you, Orron." Zavala sounded almost relieved.

Ana trailed the massive Titan as he quickly walked towards the hangar.

"Why didn't you side with me in there?" Orron looked back over his shoulder for a brief second as he strode on. "Because I agree with Zavala," he said brusquely, "And he is my commanding officer."

Ana chewed on her lower lip, considering it, before quickening her pace to match the Titan's. She saw the looks they were getting - younger Guardians in dirty armor scurrying out of the way, their eyes locked on Orron. She saw how even Hunters stared at the Vanguard's champion, and wondered if they knew what a stiff asshole their hero was.

The hangar was crowded, as usual, but Orron's ship was already waiting, fueled. The perks of fame, she supposed. They transmatted in, and Orron's Ghost immediately began inputting flight calculations.

"This'll be quick and easy. You want to help? Just follow along and listen to what I say." The Titan's gruff voice echoed from the cockpit to the passenger compartment where Ana was standing.

"No, Orron. I can help in more ways than that. Zavala wants us to gather intelligence on two things - Uldren Sov and Rasputin. I already know all about the latter. So you listen to me, okay?"

A sassy response, but Ana could sense that the Titan didn't really want to get into it. He grunted, as was his lot, and eased the jumpship up. They wouldn't be making any jumps for now, though. They were going to Old Russia, to the Cosmodrome. The ship accelerated suddenly, and soon the battle-worn walls of the Last City gave way to the unspoiled, snow-peaked mountains and grassy highlands that surrounded humanity's refuge.

 **ORRON**

Almost an hour past in near silence, and Orron was glad for it. He was able to concentrate on his flying as he took the craft over the Atlantic Ocean. Every time he passed the gray, choppy waters, even far above, he felt something stir in him. He always thought it was just the power of the ocean; deep, implacable, eternal. It reminded him of the Light, or of his fellow Titans. In some ways, he thought, it also reminded him of the Darkness.

"So." The voice came from behind him, as he felt Ana enter the already-cramped cockpit. "Where's your family from?"

Orron didn't answer. The question didn't even make much sense.

"This is the part of most telescreen dramas where the two heroes get close and realize they have a common past.", Ana said by way of explanation.

"Don't watch telescreen dramas. Never had time."

"Well, alright, but the point stands. Where's your family from?"

Orron shifted the jumpship, beginning to take them north along the coast of what had been Africa towards Europe.

"I don't know. I remember nothing about my past. I don't care about my past."

From her tone, Orron could tell that the Hunter behind him had shifted to her typical hands-on-hips position as she spoke.

"I think you're lying. I think you, just like every Guardian, comes from somewhere. You're just keeping it buried. You know you have a past. You've chosen not to remember it."

For the second time that day, the Titan looked over his heavily armored shoulder, but his eyes were hard and sharp as obsidian, this time. His voice held the same edge.

"And if I did remember something of the past? Why would I share it with you?"

He watched as she stood, silent for a moment, and then as she spoke much quieter.

"Because I know how you feel. And I can help you."

Orron considered her for a minute. For once, it seemed, there was no malice in her voice, no mocking tone or wry twist. She seemed...genuine. He was surprised.

"I...appreciate the gesture, Ana. But let's stay focused on the mission."

She made a noises, as if to protest, but he was already refocused on the flight path. He heard her shift again, a soft rustling noise as she turned around.

"Wait...Ana." She stopped, halfway between the cockpit and the passenger chamber. "I...appreciate the gesture. And I appreciate you coming. It...well, it reflects...good...on you." He could hear the strain and apprehension in his own words as he said them, and cursed himself for it. She simply nodded and walked back to the passenger cabin.

 **ANA**

She almost wanted to reach out and do something stupid, like...touch him on the shoulder, on his giant stupid pauldrons, or something. She decided against it. Still, it was clear, underneath the comically stoic surface of the Titan, there was something bubbling. Pain, fear, resentment, even. She wanted to tap into it - not for an entirely altruistic reason, granted, but it was clear that Orron knew _something._

She paced back to the passenger cabin, to the four spartan seats bolted to the shuddering bulkheads of the jumpship, and sat heavily on one of them, deep in thought. Her Ghost's voice reached out to her, chipper and witty.

"Why do you torment poor Orron so? He's just like every other Titan. Emotionally distant. Might just be men, actually. Dunno."

Ana waved at the air, a dismissive gesture. Her Ghost continued.

"I mean, it's really none of your business if he's got some problems with his past. It's not like he barged in to Clovis Bray and attempted to destroy yours, or anything."

"Could we not do this...right here?" She nodded at the cockpit only a few feet away.

"Oh, sure, we can do it later. We can catch up! I have so much to tell you about. All the stuff I've picked up that you've missed."\

"Yea, yea. Later."

With a Light-infused flash, her Ghost was gone, leaving her alone with her thoughts again. Jinju had a point; Orron _had_ intruded on her own past at Clovis Bray, brought Zavala (knowingly or not) to Rasputin, and then dragged her back to the Last City for some old-fashioned patrols. On the flip side, she was the one who had called him to Mars in the first place, and sat twiddling her thumbs while he killed a Hive god. She smirked. _See, Orron? Everything wasn't so black and white. There are always two sides._

She was about to head back up to the cockpit when Orron's voice called back.

"We're here. Transmatting down momentarily."

 **ORRON**

"Not a lot of lifeforms here, Guardian. In fact...I don't see any at all."

Orron nodded as the vast walls of the Cosmodrome came into sight. Usually the place was crawling with Fallen, and though he had heard reports that their activity had been diminished, he wasn't expecting...nothing.

He stood, putting the jumpship into autopilot, and turned to the rear of his ship.

"We're here. Transmatting down momentarily."

He heard a flurry of activity as Ana prepared herself. Orron sealed his own helmet, checked his pistol and ammunition, and headed back towards the armory. _Today was a good day for swords_ , he thought. He took one of the larger ones - a cold metal blade of indeterminate material with a hilt engraved with geometric patterns - and hooked it onto his back. He saw Ana smile a bit at the sight, but as soon as they appeared on the ground a moment later, her smile was gone. All business.

Orron kept his pistol raised as he checked the surroundings.

"Nothing here."

"I know." Ana didn't have her own weapon raised. Orron lowered his hand cannon and looked around. The Cosmodrome beared more scars of late - more blackened and twisted metal, more debris of humanity's glorious past littering the ground. It was also quieter. Much quieter. No Hive screams or Fallen Skiffs humming in and out of realspace. The Cosmodrome seemed well and truly abandoned.

"Right. Well. Let's get to Skywatch. We need to see what Rasputin's new Warsat network is capable of, if it's fully operable, and if we can control it from here."

"You won't be able to. I'm sure he's thought of that. He has a vault here, y'know."

"I do know, actually. Still, it doesn't hurt to at least look. We're intelligence gathering, remember?"

They passed some time in silence, as they made their way through crumbling courtyards and desolate alleyways. Nothing, the entire time. Not a single Dreg. The banners, fluttering in the wind, marked the territory well; The Houses of Devils and Kings had taken this land for their own, and apparently given it up. To who, Orron wasn't sure.

"Your hand cannon. It's not standard issue." Ana had an inquisitive tone in her voice. He supposed he'd humor her.

"No, it is not.", His filtered voice replied, emotionlessly.

"It's very old. It's got wood on the grip, there. Like an early Golden Age pistol, or even before."

 _I know. I know that._

"I...yes, I suppose it does. I found it on Nessus, in the ruins of an old colony ship. It's a fine weapon. Hits hard. Never jams."

"It's a real piece of history."

"Someone else's history. On the receiver, there's a gold plaque. It says, 'To Sigrun, From Victor.'"

"I wonder who they are. And why they gave each other pistols. That's a weird sort of gift to give someone, a weapon. Unless they were soldiers. Maybe they were soldiers?"

 _A weird sort of gift to give someone, a weapon. Unless they were soldiers._

Ana stopped, looking back at Orron, who stood very still. "Orron?"

" _Ensign Valte, as a token of the American Union Surface Warfare Officers Association's esteem, we gift to you this saber." He took it in his left hand, his right hand shaking the captain's as he smiled towards the crowd. It was a large crowd; thousands of people, families. In the front rows, his classmates, in their white uniforms, smiled back. Derrick Kelle was there - Ensign Kelle, now. He was smiling the most out of anyone._

A voice called him back to the present. "Orron? Are you alright?"

He set his jaw straight, blinked, and nodded. "I'm fine. It's nothing. Let's keep going."

 **I'm so sorry for the immense delay in chapters - school and work and life has been pretty crazy. And yea, I have been playing a lot of Forsaken, as one reviewer suggested.**

 **I appreciate, as always, the support! I changed the formatting of the chapter a bit, to make the perspective changes a bit clearer. Hopefully you guys liked it! As always, be sure to review with any criticism or praise! -tkentk**


	7. Chapter 7 - Inquiry

**Inquiry**

 **ORRON**

The rest of the walk up to Skywatch was silent, aside from Ana occasionally making remarks about the Cosmodrome, or him, or Titans. It was starting to grate on him. Were they walking into an ambush? Where were the Hive?

They reached the courtyard before the great array itself, the ancient computers and consoles still intact, just as Orron had left them when he and Ghost had reactivated the satellite dish connecting Rasputin to the wider galaxy.

"I'm surprised the Fallen left a treasure trove of scrap like this behind at all," Ana said. "It seems so out of character."

"I know."

"I wonder what drove them to leave? I'm not seeing any signs of violence - well, besides the usual stuff."

"Maybe they left on their own."

"The Fallen are nothing if not hierarchical. What could have possibly called the House of Kings from their own domain?"

Orron shrugged, an exaggerated gesture with his armor on, and kept walking, towards the array itself. He stared up at the massive, 3-pronged structure. There was a signal coming from it; it was still transmitting.

"Alright. Let's split up. Our Ghosts can hack into these consoles, see if they can pull anything from them."

"They won't be able to, Orron. Rasputin's probably got a firewall up. And not like a basic Cabal one. A Golden Age one."

"It's worth a shot."

For once, it was Ana who sighed, but Jinju, her Ghost, nonetheless appeared and began scanning the multitudes of consoles set along the wall. She only took a second before she confirmed Anna's suspicions.

"Yea. My access is very limited. It's...well, it's a list. That's all I can reach."

"A list?" Orron stepped closer to the console that Jinju was hovering above. On the screen, in characteristic yellow and orange, a massive list appeared. The numbers stretched into the hundreds - no, thousands. Orron read slowly down the list.

"ASSET 104-293B. Earth. ASSET 104-292B. Earth. ASSET 104-291B. Earth." He stopped, reading in silence for a bit as Jinju whirred next to his head.

"They're Warsats."

"Hm?"

"The assets you're reading about. They're Warsats. Golden Age satellites, military stuff. Loading with missiles, Valkyries...who knows what else. Rasputin's hand, his way of influencing the real world, if you will."

"Those? They crash a lot. Ghost and I have recovered a few for the Vanguard."

"They crash because he wants them to crash."

Orron stayed silent for a minute.

Ana moved next to Orron, squinting at the list as it scrolled. After a moment, she spoke again.

"Because it's the only thing he wants us to access. He's letting us see this."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

Orron wheeled to her.

"You don't know? I thought you knew eve

"Why is this list the only thing we can access?"

rything there was to know about Rasputin? Or, perhaps, is it impossible to fully understand a nearly-omniscient warmind with inscrutable goals and motives?"

"Calm down, Orron."

He raised his hands in an exaggerated gesture of despair. "It's useless. Everything is a riddle with him. Why is he showing us this? Why is Prince Uldren on Mars? What does he want with me?"

Jinju chimed in, helpfully.

"If you want even more riddles, get this - the newest 40 Warsats Rasputin has launched are all orbiting Nessus."

Inside his helmet, Orron frowned. Nessus was the planetoid he had tracked Cayde to during the Cabal invasion of Earth. There, he had battled the Vex and met another Golden Age AI, Failsafe. It was a fairly irrelevant plant - a machine world, thoroughly infested with Vex. And something else...that monstrous ship that was slowly "eating" it. The Leviathan, Orron had heard it called. A Cabal craft, designed to consume everything in its path.

"Another lead to follow," he grunted. "Anything else?"

Jinju whirred again. "Nothing. There's no chance I'm getting past whatever defenses he's loaded onto this network."

"That's it then. A list. No plans, no capabilities. Just guesswork and more questions."

Ana, who had at this pointed paced away towards the open courtyard, called back.

"I told you we'd find nothing." She spun around. "You won't find any information on Rasputin he doesn't want you to find."

"The Fallen, then. We can still find out why the Fallen have left."

She strode past him as Jinju turned off the console and disappeared in a flash of Light. "I doubt we'll find anything about them, either."

Orron awkwardly half-jogged to keep up with her as they exited Skywatch. The House of Kings' old headquarters was on the opposite side of the Cosmodrome complex, back through the scrapyards, fueling and maintenance facilities, and towards the actual boarding areas for the colony ships themselves. It had always struck Orron as a cruel twist of irony that the Fallen squatted in the ruins of humanity's greatest achievement, and the Kings in it's apex.

"So," Ana started, her voice more serious than usual, no playfulness or harassment in it. "Do you actually hate me?"

Orron thought for a minute. Did he _hate_ her? No. Hate was a strong word. Orron hated the Hive, and he hated Dominus Ghaul, and...but no, he didn't _hate_ Ana Bray.

"It's not that simple."

"Simplify it for me."

 _Could she never be satisfied?_

"I think you're undisciplined...and selfish. I think you care about yourself more than you care about the City, or the Light. And your obsession with Rasputin is naive and dangerous."

Ana nodded, her face unreadable. "Thank you," she said at last, quietly. Orron wasn't sure how to respond, or even if he should. Ana Bray always had to have the last word.

 **ANA**

For the second time that day, Orron had hurt her.

And, for the second time that day, she had asked for it.

She wasn't sure why his statement had affected her so much. He'd said everything there before, in the short time they'd known each other. But there was none of the white-hot anger or boiling discontent that was usually served on the side. Just a statement, and one that he clearly meant.

What hurt most, Ana realized, was that she'd thought all of those things herself. This seemed like a confirmation of the doubt she'd been having herself the last couple of days - and maybe, even before. It was something to think about, when she got the chance.

She wasn't sure how to respond - or even if she should. But she was Ana Bray. She had to have the last word.

"Thank you," she said, quieter than she meant to.

Ana let her guard down as they continued through the facility. Orron seemed to know it like the back of his hand. Instead, she meandered in her thoughts, reflecting on the events of the last week and this strange Titan who walked in front of her. She tried to piece together what she knew of Orron. He was a Titan. He was human. She guessed that he had been fairly young when he died, just like her. Mid-thirties, at the latest. He was probably the greatest Guardian in the City's recent history, if not ever - his list of achievements was beyond recount.

It was becoming more and more clear to her that Orron was trapped. Everyone once in a while, a crack would appear in the surface; a little act of rebellion, a moment of genuine emotion, or a glimmer of a complex past. He tried to hard to keep it contained - to be the stoic, dutiful Guardian Zavala and the City required - but he was just a man, in the end. He was trapped by his own hubris, but also by his discipline, his sense of honor. It was equally clear to Ana that trying to change that was fruitless.

Orron surprised her when he spoke. "I was revived, just out there." He was pointing to the massive wall surrounding the Cosmodrome, the base of which they were now passing.

"You ever wonder what you were doing out there? Why you were here?"

Orron shook his head. "I always thought I was one of thousands, trying desperately to flee the Collapse. It works for me."

 _He knows that's not true._

"There was nothing on you? No...identifiers?"

"Not all of us are so lucky...or so cursed...as to have a nametag on us when we die. I just knew my name was Orron. That's it."

Orron paced up to one of the many rusted tanks dotting the courtyard they were standing in and considered it, cocking his helmeted head to the side.

"Sometimes, though, I wonder if I was a soldier. I've always felt some sort of...kinship, with these old war machines."

He put his hand on the carcass of the tank. Ana watched, unsure what to think.

"Dark machines built to do dark deeds, in the hopes they wouldn't be needed in the future. They're still here, though - engines rusted, barrels empty, crews and commanders long gone. Keeping watch as best they can. Waiting for humanity to return and reclaim what it had." He looked back at her, patted the tank, and shook his head.

"Maybe I'm just imagining things."

Ana nodded, opened her mouth, and then stopped. Something had shifted. Something was here. The quiet, slow creak of rusted metal moving.

She crouched, suddenly, and Orron had the good sense to draw his hand cannon. Her own pulse rifle was off her back in an instant, and she pointed to the rusting metal balcony, high above them, overlooking the courtyard and the remnants of the tanks.

 _Someone's here_. She mouthed. _More than one._

"It's not often we catch two Guardians alone," a voice called out. Rough. Jagged. A scavenger, maybe. Dangerous, surely.

Orron called back, his voice filtered by the helmet.

"We want no trouble, citizen. We're just passing by."

The speaker came into view now, along with several companions. Ana guessed that there were at least a dozen more around the courtyard, on the roofs of the rusting buildings, crude slug rifles ready. Ready to snipe any Ghost out of the air. There would be no revive if they fell here. _Damn it,_ she thought. _How were we so sloppy?_

The speaker was a man, filthy and bearded, wearing what looked more like rags and patches than actual clothing. He held a simple, old-style revolver in his hands; his companions, cobbled together rifles.

"Well, that's just the thing, 'innit it? See, this is our territory now. We let you take a little wander, all the way up to the old satellite array, let you take a little peek into them consoles up there. It's clear you ain't here for no 'passing by', Guardian. You're here to snoop. What do we do to snoopers, fellas?"

The man to his left, equally repugnant, barked: "Kill 'em, boss!"

"That's right, we kill 'em. But here's the thing. You're no Fallen or scavenger. You're a Guardian. You got fancy armor and fancier guns. We could make a profit off of you. Maybe ransom you back to your beloved City, eh?" The man laughed, but it sounded more like choking than laughter. He coughed abruptly, then again, and again, before dabbing his mouth with his ragged clothes.

"Pardon me. Air out here ain't so good. Not as nice as the City, I reckon."

Ana spoke up. She was tired of this petty tyrant. "What do you want?"

The scavenger boss leaned on the rusted rail, like it was a casual conversation and not a potentially explosive one.

"Here's the deal. Me n' my boys got you two surrounded. If you try any of your fancy magic tricks, or if we even see one of those Ghost things, we're shootin' them and you dead, and throwing you into the sea. So you're gonna come - nice n' quiet like - and then we'll phone your bosses up at the City and see what we can get for you?"

"No." Ana stood defiant, her pulse rifle still raised. She was surprised when Orron spoke, quietly.

"Do as he says, Ana."

"What?"

"Do as he says. This isn't worth getting killed over."

"What?!" Ana was incredulous, and she felt it in her voice as she spoke. The great Orron was advocating for surrender? To lowly scavengers?

"If one of us goes down, and they see our Ghosts, they will shoot them. And that'll be it. No revive, no transmat. We can figure this out. Just...put your gun down."

As if to demonstrate, Orron slowly placed Sturm on the ground. He reached behind his leg, withdraw the ancient hand cannon's companion piece, Drang, and put it beside its partner.

Ana made a noise of disgust as she threw her pulse rifle to the ground. She heard shuffling behind her as more scavengers rushed to bind them. Ana jerked a bit and was met with a harsh boot to the back of her knee. Orron calmly let the scavengers bind them.

The scavenger leader crowed from his perch above the courtyard. "Y'all see? That wasn't so bad. Now come along. We got plans for you."

 **Hey guys, hope you enjoyed - little detour for Orron and Ana here, but I think it'll be worth it! As always, be sure to review! -tkentk**


	8. Chapter 8 - Ruination

**Ruination**

He had thought there was nothing more pathetic than the Fallen, the corrupted, defiled remnants of a once-proud race turned to piracy and robbery.

And then, Orron met the survivors.

They called themselves "survivors", at least. They were just as much thieves and pirates as the Fallen. It seemed like a joke, the similarities of their filthy robes and crude weapons. Orron wanted to learn about them at first, much to the chagrin of Ana Bray. He wanted to see if these desperate humans, driven to the very edge of sanity by their circumstances, could be allies in the fight for the survival of their race.

As he was led, blindfolded, across the broken floors of the Cosmodrome, he realized he was very, very wrong.

"Put 'im in that cell. Put 'er...well, we'll keep 'er unspoiled for now. The next one over."

Orron was...well, even the Fallen fought with some sense of honor. He had seen it in, in their shattered Houses and ragged nobles. They didn't attack those who couldn't defend themselves - they didn't kick you when you were down. When he had surrendered his weapon, Orron had naively expected decent treatment at the least. The blossoming bruises across his chest were a testament to his lack of judgement.

It wasn't like they had much of a choice - he and Ana had been sloppy, letting the survivors. trail them through the Cosmodrome and then ambush them. At close range, the slug throwers wielded by the scavengers would devastate their Ghosts, render the Guardians unable to revive - render them mortal.

" _You're not brave. You've only forgotten the fear of death."_

Ghaul hadn't been wrong. Orron had known it then, and he knew it now. Without the power of their Ghosts, Guardians were just as mortal as any man. And men were easy to kill.

They'd taken his armor and weapons of course. He sat on the floor of some ruined building, feeling naked in just his undersuit, still inside the walls of the Cosmodrome, he guessed from the distance they'd moved, in a makeshift cell next to Ana Bray. The bars were made of scavenged metal, crudely welded together. There was no door - they'd both been dropped in the top. A guard sat maybe ten or fifteen meters away, rifle in handle, cunning, shifty, eyes watching them from behind a mask of dirt and rags.

"Why'd you do that?" Ana hissed, for the third time since they'd been captured and put in the cages. It seemed to Orron she was doing it for comedic effect, at this point. "We _definitely_ could've fought, we _might_ have had a chance!"

Orron looked to her, shook his head, and went back to staring at the ground, answering the same way he had before. "Ghost might have died. We might have died - forever. Not worth it."

Ana furrowed her brow as some venom crept into her tone. "Not worth what? We lost all our weapons, our armor - we're trapped here, and we can't get out."

"We'll find a way out."

The verbal assault subsided as Ana seemed to lose the energy for arguing. Orron began studying their surroundings more closely, relishing the silence, however brief he knew it might be. Besides the cages, the room was bare concrete; the roof was mostly intact, except for a small hole letting in the fading daylight, and similarly concrete. From the faded lettering on the walls, and the dampness of the room, Orron surmised this was a hardened hangar of some sort - or had been, once. That meant there was a way out, a way for jumpships to launch, or something. The lone guard was the only other human in the room; but light streamed from a far hallway, indicating more scavengers.

The scavengers themselves were a curious bunch, from what he picked up. Most spoke English; a few spoke New Portuguese, which Orron understood very little of. A common language within the city and even among Guardians, Orron hadn't much association with those who spoke it, aside from a passing familiarity with a few Titans he trained with. Ironically, he thought, Guardians who understood the language immediately placed themselves as being citizens of the Directorate of Brazil, prior to resurrection. So much for not knowing their past.

Beyond the language, the scavengers seemed mostly male - a few females, among the party that had captured them, as well. They were strong, which indicated to Orron a steady supply of food, and they had some knowledge of the City and the Guardians. On the balance, the Titan figured them to be a desperate, cruel band, forged by their circumstances into hardened warriors and merciless captors.

 _I wonder if Derrick felt the same way, when, well-..._

 _NO._

"Orron." Ana again. "Orron." He stirred and looked at the Hunter, who jerked her head towards the guard. He was standing up. He stretched, grabbed his rifle, and headed down the hall. A moment later, another guard - a female, he guessed from the slighter build and lack of facial hair - took his place. She carried what looked like a Golden Age submachine gun.

"How long has it been since we've gotten here?"

Ana considered briefly. "Three hours, give or take." She paused. "Jinju says three hours and 3 minutes." Orron nodded. The scavengers surely had no accurate timekeeping devices, only the sun. _So the guards change shifts every three hours._

"If we're going to escape, we'd best do it during the changing," Ana whispered. "Unless you want to stay here and play nice with these pseudo-Fallen." Orron shook his head. He had no intention of receiving another beating.

"Ana, I've been thinking."

Ana rolled her eyes. "That's rare, for a Titan. Rarer so, for you."

"Why is Uldren on Mars? Why is he near Rasputin?"

"I'd say it was a simple crash landing, but from what I understand, the Prince of the Reef is...smarter than that."

Orron nodded. "He's clever, manipulative - a real bastard. If he crashed there, he crashed there for a reason."

"Surely he couldn't hope to take control of Rasputin - he probably knows better than that…"

"I don't know. But it's been weighing on me. I...I don't know. I don't trust him."

"Which?"

"...Both of them."

The cages descended into silence again.

 **ANA**

Orron looked horrible. His hair, though short, was matted with blood and dirt. His face was cut, though not badly, and he looked...defeated, almost. She was almost concerned for him, almost.

She had perceived much about their location. They were in the Cosmodrome, still. Judging by the surroundings, they were in the Bastion, the colloquial name for the vast stretch of military complexes clustered at the far northern end of the massive walled area. Hangars, command centers, and barracks were built during the Golden Age to defend the Cosmodrome from...unwanted visitors. She remembered how desperate people could be. As golden as the Golden Age was, there were always those who were left behind...and those who didn't want to be moved forward.

The room was plain - there was nothing interesting, no tools to assist in their escape. The hole in the roof, though, offered some opportunity. Ana noticed, as the sun began to set, that long shadows were cast across the floor, partially obscuring Orron in them. They wouldn't last very long, but they were enough, perhaps, that the Titan could climb out of the cage and take out the guard. Ana could easily escape herself, of course - she was a Hunter, and what was a good Hunter without an escape plan - but she didn't want to leave Orron behind. Not yet, anyway.

She resigned herself to her own thoughts, for the time being. Orron was sitting still, staring at the ground again. She recalled his words to her - that she was undisciplined and selfish. She knew that, at least recently, that was true. She had left the City when the City had needed her most, pursuing a personal goal, and then remaining isolated, only re-emerging when she needed someone else's help. It _was_ selfish, there was no denying it. And yet, as Ana glanced at the bars around her, deciding to remain committed to Orron and escape together was decidedly unselfish - and very disciplined. She wondered if the Titan would recognize it, or if he would continue disliking her. She bet on the latter.

It wasn't a very fair bet to make, she knew, because Orron wasn't a bad person, or even a very unreasonable one. He was just different.

Something glinted, and out of the corner of her eye, Ana caught the last rays of sun twinkling out behind the concrete. It was night, finally. Tomorrow they would make their escape. She began making a mental checklist of the preparations she would need to make - most of them on Orron's behalf. She would need to tell the Titan the plan, of course, and then guide him out of his cage. Once they were both free, they would need their weapons and gear, and some food, preferably. She doubted that their Ghosts would be able to call their jumpships this far from the center of the Cosmodrome.

Food...They needed to be strong for this. Ana shifted, stood up, and pressed herself against the bars.

"HEY!" The guard looked up. "HEY!" Grabbing her rifle, the scavenger began walking towards them.

"What?"

"Can we get some food? Water maybe? We're no good to you if we starve first."

The scavenger stopped a few paces away, considering them. Ana immediately began analyzing her. She knew Orron was doing the same. Young, scrawny but not sickly, a mad look in her eyes. She looked like a dog backed into a corner, had that same energy. It's the same look Ana had seen dozens of times in the many eyes of the Fallen.

"Eh…'aight. Don't go nowhere." The guard loped back towards her post and into the lit hallway. Ana couldn't hear any voices; the others must be further down, out of earshot. Good information. A few moments later, the female scavenger returned. The one who had spoken to them before - the big, hairy one, the boss probably, was with her.

"You lot ain't content to just wait and be fed when we feel like it? Our generosity not good enough for you?"

Orron had the good sense not to answer. Ana simply stared at him.

"Lemme clue you in - unlike in your City, we don't got plentiful food. We don't get no peaceful farms or fancy technology. But you're in luck. We need you alive. So 'ere."

The female scavenger, on cue, produced two packaged meals. They looked ancient. Ana recognized them - military food, dehydrated stuff. The lettering was in Old Russian. The stuff was Golden Age vintage, but the packaging looked unspoiled. She handed them to the big scavenger, who tossed one at Orron and one at Ana.

"Eat up. If I 'ere of you two askin' for more luxuries, I'm gonna cut your tongues out."

He turned and lumbered back towards the hallway, the guard in tow, leaving them alone. Orron scrambled for his meal and looked at it, squinted, and sighed.

"I don't read Russian. Do you?"

"Yea." Ana picked up her package and looked at it. "Protein paste. Beef flavored. Let me see yours." Orron handed her his through the bars and she squinted. "Lucky you...protein paste. Chicken flavored." She handed it back and he began opening it. She opened hers, too. Her expectations weren't high, but she was pleasantly surprised by the sealed tins of crackers and vegetables in addition to the paste. Ana looked over at Orron, to gauge his reaction, but he was silent.

 **ORRON**

' _It doesn't taste good, Midshipman Valte, but it'll sustain you. Keep you strong. You want that right?"_

' _Yes, Gunnery Sergeant.'_

 _He looked down at the nondescript gray paste in front of him. It didn't smell bad, it just - it looked like fungus, or something worse. Derrick sat next to him in the clearing, his mock rifle resting on a nearby rock, eyeing his own paste. Gunnery Sergeant stood over the two, waiting for them. Midshipman Valte took a bite. It didn't taste horrible, and the texture was similar to avocado._

' _It's not bad, Derrick. Try it.'_

 _His friend obliged, and they ate in silence. Gunnery Sergeant had moved on to the other groups of Mids, and Valte relished the silence of the moment. The forest itself was alive with sound - birds, trees shifting in the wind, the babble of a river somewhere - and Valte took it all in._

' _Y'know, Valte, I'm thinking of switching to Spec Ops. Get out here more. Yknow?'_

' _You're going to leave me alone in Navigation? With Martins?'_

' _You'll get over it. That ship navigation is going the way of the Dodo anyway. They need to teach us space navigation.'_

 _Valte looked down at the protein paste._

' _Yea. They probably should.'_

Orron looked down at the protein paste. He slowly, almost mechanically turned his head towards Ana.

"I've had this before."

She stopped eating for a moment and looked at him, confused.

"You've had Russian Army protein paste before?"

"No...I...I can't help but feel I've eaten something similar before. A long time ago."

Ana turned to him fully, swallowed the bite of protein paste she was struggling through, and blinked.

"What? This is your memory of the paste? Protein paste?"

Orron sighed. "There's...been more. Fragments. Bits. Ever since the Traveller woke up, they've...been there. Little snippets."

"So you do know something of your past?"

"No...not really, anyway. Just flashes. There's someone named Derrick. There's some loss...A hymn, and a gift. It's all so disjointed." Orron suddenly threw the paste violently to the ground.

"I just want to be a normal Guardian, goddamn it!"

He heard the anger and malice in his voice, inhaled sharply, and repeated himself. "I just want to be a normal Guardian. I don't want-...I don't want to remember any more. I don't want to _know_ who I was. I don't want to be Ana Bray." He trailed off, stopped, and took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry. It's been a long day."

Ana smirked. It was an absurd comment, he thought.

"Well...I don't know, Orron. It's not such a weakness to be something more than a Guardian."

"It is. Look at you. Your obsession with the past compromised your duty. I don't want to do the same."

Orron could feel Ana staring at him. He couldn't tell if it was a sympathetic or icy gaze. He was still staring at the protein paste. Eventually, she spoke.

"Eat, Orron. We're getting out of here tomorrow."

They both woke to the bright light shining through the hole in the bunker-hangar ceiling. Orron was quick to sit up, dust himself off. He tried to stretch - the cage didn't make for very comfortable sleeping.

"Guardian. Good morning. I took the liberty of trying to contact the Tower while you were asleep. Couldn't raise a signal out here - there's no beacons. We're gonna need to trek a while, if we are going to escape."

Ghost's chipper voice suddenly interjected itself into Orron's groggy mind. His constant companion had been relatively silent all of yesterday, and for a moment, he seemed foreign. Orron muttered his acknowledgement and thanks, then stood. He felt dizzy for a moment. Then his head cleared. A different guard was watching them now, a new one entirely. Older than the others, by the gray streaks in his beard. His expression was blank as he cradled what looked like a single-shot rifle across his lap

Ana tapped his arm, and he moved in closer as she began whispering.

"At three o'clock, when the guards change, the shadow cast from that hole will mostly cover your cage. You climb out, take out the watcher. Then we go down the hall, fight whoever's there, and get our gear back. We'll grab some food too, then run like hell. Got it?"

"How're we gonna fight them?"

Ana looked at him like he'd asked the most ridiculous question in the world. "We're Guardians, right?" She mimed holding a shield, then throwing it. "Supers!"

Orron shook his head.

"These aren't Hive monsters! They're...people. I'm not going to -..."

"You said yourself they would've killed us if they had the chance!" Her whisper was more of a hiss now. "Come on."

Orron pulled away, his assent marked by silence. All they had to do was wait. Ana had it all figured out.

By the time the shadows began to creep across the floor, Orron was ready. They lengthened as the hour crept closer.

"It's almost three o'clock local time, Guardian," Ghost helpfully reminded him, in his head.

Orron glanced at Ana, who nodded. The shadow was almost obscuring him entirely. The guard change was…

Now. The second guard that day, another female, was standing up. She turned her back on the two cages, and Orron scrambled for the top of his, reaching for rusty handholds and pulling himself over the the open top. He balanced, precariously, before jumping off and landing as quietly as he thought he could. He looked back. Ana was already gone.

 _Of course._

He moved towards the edge of the room, cloaked in shadow. He saw movement on the other side, a flash of white as Ana made her own path towards the lit hallway. They had seconds. Orron searched the ground, desperately, and found a jagged piece of metal. He clutched it tightly in his fist as he crept towards the guard chair. Any moment…

The new guard stepped out, machine gun clasped loosely in his hands. He was a young man - a boy, really. No facial hair, not even the same look in his eyes. Orron was almost on him…

He grabbed the guard suddenly, one arm wrapped around his mouth, the other pulling him closer. He stabbed the guard once in the stomach - then again, then again. Then again. And again.

"Enough, Orron." Ana spoke from the opposite side of the hallway entrance. "Orron. You killed him. He's dead." Orron dropped the body of the scavenger and staggered back, the knife clattering to the floor. He didn't know what had come over him - he'd never killed a human before. Outside of the Crucible, of course. But that wasn't real death. Those Guardians came back. He stared down at the young survivor, blood pooling around him as he silently gurgled and choked on his own life. He was not coming back.

"We have to move, Orron." The Titan shook the mood off and followed Ana.

"Get in front. Use the Light. Use your Super when we get in…I'll be behind you."

He pushed past her, making his way down the hall. He could hear voices now. At least six distinct ones, including the loud, crude bellow of the boss. He retreated to his inner sanctum as the final turn approached, deep into the wellspring of Light that had been building there...he channeled it into a glowing shield of void energy just as they rounded the corner. He heard the roar of flame and felt the heat of the Golden Gun as Ana did the same.

The scavengers were so shocked that they barely had time to react. Most were sitting; only two were standing. Orron charged forward, slamming into the first scavenger, the old one, with the shield. He heard two thunderous reports from Ana's gun as he blocked the bosses' sloppy return fire. He threw the void shield at the man. It made a sickening crunch as it contacted on his chest and returned to Orron's hand. He slammed the final scavenger on his side of the room into the wall with such force that he heard the man's spine crack. It sent an involuntary shiver down the Titan's neck. Ana fired one last time as the energy from her Light dissipated.

They stood amidst a scene of carnage. The Golden Gun had burned gigantic holes through Ana's kills and instantly cauterized the wounds; the bodies lay charred, and the smell of burnt flesh assaulted Orron's nostrils. His handiwork was messier; the void energy of the shield had severely damaged the bodies of the boss and his minions. They were contorted, at violent angles, and their faces were all frozen in abject terror.

"Well. That was easy. Let's find our supplies and book it, before any more come back. Come on."

The two stepped over the bodies and into the next room, a storeroom of sorts. Orron's twin guns, Sturm and Drang, were there, as was Ana's pulse rifle; and his engraved double-headed eagle breastplate.

"Where's the rest of our stuff?" Orron's voice sounded hollow.

Ana dug through a crate, pulled out her chest and leg padding, and sighed.

"They took my damn pauldron. Scavenger sons of -..."

"Yea? They took everything of mine. Except for my brestplate, luckily. Too shiny for them to wear and be stealthy, most likely."

"You got something, at least, let's go. Here." Ana tossed him a few homemade bandoliers, certainly belonging to the scavengers.

"Put these on, take some more dehydrated food, and let's go."

Orron pulled them over his head and holstered his pistols, grabbed a few of the boxy Russian meals, and stuffed them in the worn leather pouches that now crisscrossed his chest down to his upper thighs.

They crept back past the room with the bodies and towards what Ana had identified as the exit.

"I know you didn't want to do that, Orron, but look at us now. We're free, and we'll be back to our real mission soon. You're learning to think outside of the box! I'm proud."

As Orron looked back towards the dead scavengers one more time, he certainly didn't feel proud.

 **Longest one yet! Had another go at writing combat, and some character building. Let me know what you think in reviews or via PM! -tkentk**


	9. Chapter 9 - Resucitacion

**Resucitacion**

"Down."

Orron crouched at Ana's word, pressing himself against the rusted debris in front of him. He could barely hear them, too. The angered shouting of the scavengers. They lowered their voices for a moment, and Orron strained to make out their words.

"Go."

The Titan awkwardly stood from his crouch and followed Ana to the next pile of debris. The massive defensive wall was in sight now, as the clustered buildings and bunkers of the Bastion, and the scavengers that inhabited them, began to fall behind. Orron had Sturm drawn in his right hand, but he hoped he wouldn't have to use it. Not on the scavengers. Not on another human.

The dash from the hangar-bunker complex where they had been held captive had been hectic. A returning crew of scavengers had passed within meters of their hiding place; the duo had sprinted when it became clear they'd discovered the bodies of their compatriots. More scavengers had joined the hunt, and soon the whole area had been crawling with desperate, violent survivors, who certainly wouldn't be taking prisoners a second time.

Orron had to credit Ana with their escape; the Hunter seemed to possess supernatural instincts for stealth. He supposed it was _actually_ supernatural; he just wished he could be of more assistance to her as they crept around the patrols and throw desolate ruins. Instead, Orron had found he possessed an equally supernatural ability to create noise, and so he was relegated to following Ana like a loyal dog.

"Up ahead. Large gap in the wall." Orron followed her hand, momentarily free of her pulse rifle, to a jagged cut running up the wall. It looked like some large round had impacted on the concrete and metal structure, a long time ago - a lucky break for the Guardians of the future. Ana checked behind them, Orron belatedly copying her gesture, then began a full out sprint for the gap. The Titan joined her, his massive strides rapidly covering the open space between them and the wall. He heard a sharp crack behind them, then another, and another.

Shit.

He instinctively ducked to the side, heard one of the crude slugs zip by his head. Behind him, a quick glance afforded a view of two scavengers with bolt-action slug throwers, their dark barrels glaring menacingly at the escaping Guardians.

"You are almost out of their range. Keep going, Guardian." Ghost sounded a lot more confident than Orron felt as the slugs whizzed past.

Ana was ahead of him, at the gap in the wall. The daylight was beginning to fade just beyond, the long shadows cast by the wall nearly cloaking the Hunter in shadow. Almost there-...

Orron felt a sharp pain in his back. He was on the ground, suddenly. His vision blurred. He wanted to curse but...there was no air in his lungs. He looked up, saw Ana Bray fire two bursts from her rifle. He saw her run over, but…

 **ANA**

His breathing was shallow, but constant. He had passed out; of course he had. The slug round that had impacted on his lower back, just below his armor, was two inches long, maybe more. That the Titan was still breathing was testimony to his resilience, Ana knew.

She let him slump against a stunted tree, and paused to catch her breath. Orron's Ghost hovered nervously over him.

"I could try to heal him but...the projectile is in deep." Ghost whirred for a minute. "It missed his spine by centimeters. He is lucky." The little speck of Light twisted in the air for a minute. "We need to remove the projectile before I heal the wound. His lack of armor….well, complicated things."

Ana nodded, before grabbing Orron's ankles again. She was sure he'd be bruised and sore from being dragged across the harsh steppe outside the Cosmodrome, but the fact remained that Ana was no Titan. She couldn't carry him properly. In short bursts, stopping for rest, Ana moved them away from the Cosmodrome. She wanted to put a mile between them and the ruins before resting for the night. As it turned out, a mile was ambitious. With light fading and Orron fading in and out of consciousness, Ana decided that a crumbling auto stop on the northbound highway would make a fine camp.

Ghost and Jinju scanned the place and determined there were no hostiles nearby. Ana had already figured, given the isolated location and lack of loot. The station was simple, a few rooms in a low concrete building with a sagging roof, pockmarked with holes and water damage. The back room looked solid enough; Ana guessed it may have been an office or break room a long time ago. She laid Orron on the ground, stomach down and he grunted in protest - or pain. Sturm and Drang hung uselessly from his bandoliers where he had holstered them. Ana discarded them to the side as she began to peel away his ruined undersuit.

The slug round was crude, Ana could surmise. The entry wound was messy, and would likely become infected before long. As much as Ana despised the Cabal, she had always found their weapons efficient and clean - designed to kill as fast as possible. These slug throwers were purely cruel, built to maim and wound. It made sense, from the perspective of the survivors - tie down rival scavenging bands into wasting precious resources caring for the injured.

Ghost reappeared. "We need to do this soon, Ana. I can deal with cleaning the wound, but not while that thing is in him."

Orron groaned, and muttered something. Ana took a deep breath. "Right. I need antiseptic, clean water. Some sort of pincer…" She began digging around in what little gear the scavengers hadn't picked through. Like any good Hunter, she was prepared for life in the wild; a small first aid kit was Ana's constant companion.

Ghost scanned his Guardian again. "And a blanket. He's in danger of going into shock."

Ana looked up at the floating spark of Light, a sickly, sarcastic sort of smile on her face. "A blanket? Do you have a blanket on you, Ghost?"

"I'm only trying to help, Ana."

"I know...it's just...a lot." Ana opened the small white plastoid box and withdrew a small bottle of rubbing alcohol and some tweezers. Probably meant to remove tiny bits of shrapnel, it would work for now. It had to. Ana uncapped the rubbing alcohol, took a deep breath, and exhaled.

"This is gonna hurt, Orron. Be a strong Titan for me and don't scream too much."

 **ORRON**

Orron had thought he had felt pain when Dominus Ghaul had kicked him off his flagship. He had landed, a hundred meters below, on the hard concrete of a City plaza. He remembered the searing flash of white, followed by the dull, throbbing ache that had lasted for days.

Orron had clearly been wrong.

He had done his best to stay quiet, as Ana said. So he whimpered like a child with a knee scrape the entire time her pincers probed his lower back. He felt a sort of release when the slug actually came out, then more stinging pain as the antiseptic was applied. He had to remind himself _not_ to bite his tongue out.

No sweeter words were ever uttered than when Ana grimly announced "It's done." Orron's head and vision were beginning to clear, and he tried to roll onto his side, but Ana stopped him. Ghost whirred. "It's my turn," he said, and floated over to Orron.

"This is a bit different than usual, Orron. No armor to shield you from this one. Let's see what I can do." Orron felt the familiar warmth wash over him, and suddenly the pain was gone. Nothing.

"All done, Guardian. Back to normal. Just...be careful when you're not wearing armor."

"I am wearing armor," Orron retorted weakly, as he sat up and slumped back against the wall.

"You're not wearing _enough_ armor," Ghost shot back.

"Now you know how I feel all the time," interjected Ana as she closed the first aid kid. She tossed the slug to Orron. "Here's the little piece of metal that almost took your spine out."

"Thanks." Orron turned it over in his bruised hand before placing it in one of the ragged bandolier pouches they'd taken from the scavengers. He sighed heavily. "That was scary."

Ana considered him for a moment. "Yea, it was."

"What's the plan?"

Ghost interjected. "There's no signal out here. In the Cosmodrome, the City had set up beacons, allowing us to interface with the orbital grid network and transmat big things like jumpships. Out here? Nothing."

"And with those scavengers all over the place, we can't just head back. We need to find somewhere we can get help, and get back in the action." Ana shook her head. "I don't like being this far away from everything. What if something happens, and we don't know about it?"

A glare from Orron caused her to lower her gaze momentarily.

"We can ride, then. You can still access our Sparrows, right Ghost?"

"Yes. I have enough power to do that. The grid is...complicated, but basical-..." Orron waved his hand. He wasn't in the mood for exposition. He wasn't ever, really. If it worked, it worked, and that was enough for him. He picked up his guns from where Ana had pushed them, studying them closely. Sturm was polished enough that it reflected the pale moonlight streaming through a small hole in the ceiling. Ana moved across from him.

"It's no shame being hurt like that, Orron."

"I'm not 'ashamed'."

"You were caught off your guard."

"It was a stupid mistake. It's over now."

The pair went silent again. Ana began eating some protein paste, a nonverbal reminder that Orron should eat. He did, gingerly, still feeling a sort of phantom pain where the slug had been. It wasn't normal - Orron had never felt residual pain after being crushed by a Hive Ogre or blown into tiny bits by a Guardian with a rocket launcher in the Crucible. But this was a different wound - a real one, if that made any sense. A wound that reminded Orron that Guardians were still mortal. Not that he needed any reminding.

Ana broke the silence with a curious question.

"What do you fight for, Orron?"

The Titan looked up, making eye contact with her. It was the only way to tell if this was bait or a serious question. There was no mischievous twinkle there. He considered the question for a minute.

"I fight because I have to. It's my duty to the city, and the people that live in it. It's my duty to the Vanguard, my commanding officers. It's my duty to...well, it's payback. For giving me a second chance."

Ana shook her head. "Not like that. I know that. But you don't know the people of the City. You're not friends with the Vanguard. There's no personal connection there. In moments like this, when things aren't looking so good, and you're looking for something to hold on to, what is it?"

Orron looked down at Sturm, still in his hand. Again, he considered the question.

"I found these two pistols, Sturm and Drang" - he indicated the companion pistol, next to his right foot - "In the ruins of a crashed colony ship on Nessus. The ship was destroyed during the Collapse. There were no survivors. There's an inscription on each; on Sturm, 'To Sigrun, from Victor', and on Drang, 'To Victor, from Sigrun'."

He looked back up at Ana, who was listening intently. Orron started again slowly, choosing his words carefully.

"I don't know who Sigrun and Victor are - or...were. But I know they loved each other, and they were going to start a new life...and that was all robbed from them. And maybe it _is_ vengeance, or revenge, or...- I don't know. It's vengeance for all of the Sigruns and Victors who had their futures taken from them. It's vengeance for everyone who didn't get a second chance."

"That's...quite touching," Ana said quietly. She almost seemed surprised by the Titan's answer. "I wish I had something like that."

Orron shook his head. "Don't get the wrong idea. It's not that I think of myself as some sort of avenging angel on behalf of the world, crusading against the Darkness. I just think a lot about the fact that I got a second chance - I died, just like the rest of these people, but I was brought back. I'm alive again. Why?"

"It's a question I've asked myself many times." Ana flipped the empty protein paste tube over in her hands, an almost nervous fidget. Orron noted that it wasn't the first time she'd done it.

"Uniquely, I was revived with my identity. My old name - my last name. I always thought that maybe the reason I was revived at all was so I could help Rasputin defend humanity again. That's why I left the city. That's why I went to Mars. I thought it was my...predestination, I guess."

"I see."

"I know, you think it was selfish of me to abandon the city, and you know what? I think you're right, it was. But...and I'm not trying to totally excuse it, or anything...I didn't do it for no reason. I think that maybe the reason I was revived, and given this second chance with my past intact, is because I can do some good for humanity with it. I can be tool."

"All Guardians are 'tools', Ana. We're tools to protect humanity."

"Like Rasputin."

"Yes. And like Rasputin, we are wasted when we deviate from our usage."

Ana didn't have a response, and Orron was glad. He knew, though, that she was being honest. She hadn't abandoned the City maliciously, out of an intent to harm. She had thought she could help. He now understood that, and it made Orron feel better about her, in general. He made a mental note to treat her with more respect.

 _People are different, Or. Not everyone is just like you. Sometimes it's best to embrace that._

A female voice. Who had said that? Orron didn't remember. He didn't even know if it was...from the past, or from the present. It didn't matter. Whoever had said it was right. Ana Bray was different, and it did Orron no good to try and change it, or cow her into submission. That wasn't her.

"You should get some rest, Guardians." Ghost cast small shadows around the room with his glowing frame. "Jinju and I can keep scanning, make sure we stay safe."

Orron agreed. The events of the day had left him exhausted, mentally, emotionally, and physically. He imagined that Ana felt the same. He unclipped the straps on his armor, the usually shiny eagle on the breastplate scuffed and dirtied. He'd clean it later. For now, he rested his head awkwardly on the ground as Ana curled into some sort of ball. He focused on going to sleep when the Hunter spoke.

"Orron?"

"Yes?"

"I'm...glad you're here. Despite everything...know I have your back, okay?"

Orron grunted. "And know I have yours."

 **It's tough to try and write perilous situations for functionally immortal Guardians! Maybe the whole thing with the slug thrower and the transmats and all that felt a BIT contrived, even in my own head, but I have to add some risk and adventure. Please let me know what you think, constructive criticism is always welcomed!**


	10. Interlude - Fireteam Lazarus

**Fireteam Lazarus**

"Are you sure it's not just a malfunction?"

"My sensors aren't wrong, okay? They say they detected movement, so they detected movement."

"That cave was marked as 'clear' by Orron. I don't think he would lie."

"Maybe they're back, I don't know. Regardless, something tripped them." The reedy voice of Tel, the Warlock on the fireteam, stopped for a minute, as if he was catching his breath. "We should go check it out. Just to be safe. It's at least something to do, right?"

Markos grunted his assent. He was tired of sitting around.

When Lazarus had been asked to watch Rasputin, Markos had accepted the orders with gusto. A chance for his fireteam to prove itself, protecting one of the most sensitive secrets in the galaxy. What had promised to be a prestige-enhancing tour of duty had instead turned into another boring slog, like any other patrol assignment. Occasional Cabal incursions, a stray Hive Knight or two, and an utterly silent Warmind looming over them all.

Markos didn't want to admit it, but he was happy when Tel had reported in that his motion sensors had been tripped. Ever cautious, the Warlock had set them up deep in the caves pockmarking the Hellas Basin. The team's Hunter, an Exo named Emilie, had objected, claiming it was "cheap". Emilie was ever more wild than your average Hunter, preferring long sojourns into the wild, ostensibly to "get in touch with her Light." Markos knew it was really just to kill things.

The massive Titan pulled on his helmet. He didn't grab a weapon. Markos didn't use weapons. He made a fist with his enhanced gauntlets, feeling the drivers in the armored wrist and knuckle tighten, and then loosen, as he unclenched his hand. Markos' armor was a marriage of technology and Light, one of the finest close-combat sets ever made, or so Banshee-44 assured him. Markos chose to believe him. He felt better that way. As he strode out of the rusting hall the fireteam had chosen as a forward operating position, he raised Emilie on the com.

"Emilie, meet me at the entrance to the cave Tel was talking about. We got a ping."

"Probably just another Cabal scout force."

"Probably. Come anyway."

Markos knew from the silence that met him that the Hunter assented. He started off on the long trek through the snow and red dust-covered ruins of the Clovis Bray facility. The skies were quiet; the Cabal dropships had slowed in regularity recently. Markos had intended to write a brief on it, but decided against it as soon as he opened his portable word processor. Too much work, and not even the soul-crushing boredom of this assignment could force the Titan to present a formal report to Zavala, or Ikora.

The cave entrance appeared, a jagged hole in an otherwise seamless red cliff. Emilie was already there, leaning on the mouth. Her scout rifle was cradled in her arms, her hood down and cloak flapping nonchalantly in the breeze.

"You're slow, Markos."

He just shook his head.

"Sorry I was actually guarding the Warmind like we were assigned." Emilie fell in behind him as he entered the cave.

"Did you know there's a crashed Reef jumpship here?" Emilie's almost-natural voice echoed off the cavern walls as they walked.

"Huh?"

"Interesting, right? I couldn't get a closer look, but…"

They passed in silence for a few minutes before Markos opened up the fireteam com channel.

"Tel, we're coming up on the triggered beacon. Where are you?"

There was an acute silence.

"Tel?"

Still, nothing. Something was wrong, and Markos could feel it. They entered a large cavern, the intersection of several tunnels. The beacon was here all right, and-...

"Guardian. Markos. There's...I can't revive you hear. The Darkness is overwhelming. I think it's Vex tech, but...be careful." Markos' Ghost suddenly spoke up.

"Vex tech? That doesn't make any sense, Dmi."

"I don't know what else to say, Markos."

Markos shook his head. "Try not to die," he said jokingly to Emilie, who didn't smile at his comment. Markos walked forward to the beacon, which was blinking.

"Hello, Guardians."

The voice that called out was smooth, calm, implacable. Markos couldn't place the speaker's location, or who it was. He saw glowing eyes emerge from one of the caves - and the unmistakable outline of a handcannon. Markos switched to fighting posture, heard Emilie flip the safety off of her scout rifle. The figure stayed obscured in the shadow.

"Who is that?" Markos tried to sound official, but knew he probably just sounded stupid.

"Someone better than you." The speaker's words were dripping with arrogance, behind every syllable.

"Better tha-...what do you want?"

"I want justice."

"Where's Tel? Where's our Warlock?"

"Elsewhere, I'm afraid."

Markos was in the middle of formulating an answer when there was a flash followed by a violent report. He knew that sound - he turned, eyes wide, and saw Emilie's faceplate slide away in a molten heap. Her eyes flickered, and she for a moment it looked like she might try to say something. Then she crumpled, and her eyes dimmed.

The hot rage built fast. Markos willed his light to build as he let out a mighty yell, charging forward at the shadowy figure. He braced himself for a hand cannon round to the chest, but instead Markos saw the flash of metal - a knife.

" **COWARD!"** Markos swung his fist in a wide arc at what he presumed to be the figure's head. Gracefully, his opponent dodged, and the Titan saw a bright flash heading towards his back. He jerked his forearm up, caught it, then jabbed with his left hand. Again, the figure danced out of the way. Markos reset himself and watched carefully as the man opposite him stood, silently.

He was wearing a cloak, that much he could make out. From his glowing eyes, he could surmise his opponent was an Awoken - and a skilled one at that. A spy? An assassin? It didn't matter. Let the City handle the diplomacy. Markos just wanted to avenge his fireteam.

He rushed at the figure, who stepped into the glow of the beacon briefly before dashing to the side. He saw the flash of the knife again, but was too slow to stop it. A sharp pain ripped into his side, made him see white for a minute. Markos grunted and shook it off. He swung blindly with his left fist, and surprised himself when he made contact. He heard a sharp intake of breath, the crunch of something breaking in his opposite.

"Don't like fighting like a man, huh? You prefer sneaking around in the shadows like a...like damned weakling?"

"I prefer winning," his opponent hissed back. Markos saw the man sweep low, dodged towards the side - and saw the blade of the knife again caught in the beacon's light. An exploratory jab towards the rapidly-shifting shadow of the figure didn't connect and then the Titan felt another hot, searing pain followed by the unmistakable burning of a stab wound.

"You're losing a lot of blood, Guardian. I can't revive-..."

"I know, Dmi." His Ghost's fussing wouldn't help now. Still, never before had the Titan felt so...mortal. Whoever he was fighting, he was good. Very good.

Markos staggered back towards the light of the beacon in the center of the room, still blinking. His fists were raised defensively, Light surging in his gauntlets. He could see the elusive, shadowy figure edging around the room, and the Titan followed his every movement. There were no more words to say - Markos knew he had to end this, and soon. The shadow briefly moved away from the cavern wall, and he took his chance. Roaring again, he charged forward, Light pulsing through his whole body, ready to unleash it and avenge his friends, and then -... a white pain across his whole back that practically blinded him. He grunted, a choked sound, then fell forward, catching himself on his knees. He felt the figure behind him, and slowly turned to face him, aware of his own life slowly draining from his body.

The figure was in the light now, and Markos could see he had been right. An Awoken. Not just any Awoken - Prince Uldren. His mouth was curled into a sneer.

"I would say that I'm sorry, Titan, but...I'd be lying."

"Why are you doing this?"

"I told you already. I want justice."

"This isn't justice, this is murder."

The Prince shrugged.

"You have to start somewhere."

Markos could feel his breath coming short and heavy. Ghost was saying something to him, but he blocked him out. He raised his helmeted gaze to the Prince, whose knife was covered in Markos' own blood.

"Finish it."

The Prince chuckled, an utterly humorless sound.

"Finish it? No, no, no no. You'll die here, Titan, laying in a pool of your own blood, mortal at last."

Uldren turned around, his cloak swishing.

"It's not so easy when you're just like the rest of us, is it?" As his consciousness faded, Markos swore that he heard the Prince's voice soften.

"Not all of us have the luxury of being able to bring those we care about back."

 **OOC: And I'm back! The main story is gonna start to pick up now. Uldren's Vex tech is going to be an important part of the plot moving forward, so expect more of an explanation on how it works later.**


	11. Chapter 11 - Scourge

**Scourge**

" _Lieutenant Valte. Have a seat, please."_

 _He sat, gingerly, in the spartan chair the Captain was motioning to._

" _May I ask why I'm here, sir?"_

" _It's Kelle. We've-...he's been captured by the Neo-Luds. I just got word from CENTCOM that his whole team is MIA."_

 _Lieutenant Valte was silent. He tried to prevent any display of emotion, any sign of weakness from showing as he stared at the Captain's weathered face across his desk. It was no use. He felt his upper lip quivering, his forehead growing red-hot. He tried to stop himself. He couldn't._

" _Sir...I'm going to request a week or two of leave." His voice was hard and determined._

 _Valte saw the Captain's eyes sparkle, even if it was for just a minute._

" _I would expect no less of you, Valte."_

 **ORRON**

Orron couldn't feel the biting wind on his face, not anymore. He'd learned the fifth or sixth hour on his Sparrow that trying to reposition the rags covering his mouth and nose wouldn't help. So, despite Ghost's persistent warnings about frostbite, he'd given up, resulting in his current state. He bet that if a Cabal slug round impacted on his face right now he wouldn't even know until Ghost had revived him.

"Orron. We should stop after we find some shelter for the night. Get some rest." Even though she was only a few meters behind him on her own Sparrow, Ana's voice was clear only through his wrist-mounted com.

"No, we have to keep going. It's not that much -..."

"We need to be in fighting shape. How many Fallen do you think you could take on right now?"

He knew the answer to that question, and he also knew Ana was right. He scanned the bleak, grassy plains that seemed to stretch for miles in every direction. He guessed they were in what had been Ukraine, or Belarus, before the Collapse. It was only a guess, though - his Sparrow's guidance system wasn't working. He understand now how hard normal survivors like Hawthorne had it - almost transmat, no satellites, no jumpships. Just themselves, their weapons, and their friends.

There was something oddly peaceful about this part of Old Europe, once you got past the biting wind, he thought. There were no great cities in this part of the steppe before the Collapse, no alien invaders or despoiled lands. No scavengers or raiders lurked in caves and ruins - it had been almost a day since they'd seen any sign of life at all. Orron wondered if much of the pre-Collapse world was this simple and quiet. For some reason, he doubted it. _He knew it._

"Look, up ahead." Ana had pulled her Sparrow up beside Orron's, increasing her speed to match his own. He followed her outstretched hand to what looked like a farmstead of some sort. It was a few hundred meters ahead, and from what he could see, looked well-kept, but empty. He shrugged, a barely perceptible movement in the motion of the Sparrow, and followed her lead as she banked towards the isolated house.

Both roof and wall were made of nearly-uniform wooden slats, weathered by the wind and age. There was no glass in the windows, but their shutters hung mostly straight, something which the Titan was grateful for. Ana went in first, sidearm drawn, but upon seeing that the single-room house was completely empty, she holstered it on her thigh. Ghost notified Orron that he wasn't scanning any lifeforms in the surrounding area, but he could have guessed that himself. He idly flipped Sturm around in his hand as he briefly surveyed the room.

The floor was hard-packed dirt and brush, and a lone, crude table occupied one corner. There was a small pile of extremely dry-looking firewood next to an equally small fireplace. Orron had usually thought of fireplaces as being made of stone, but this one was made of the same wood as the rest of the house.

"Looks safe enough." He holstered Sturm and looked at Ana.

"I wonder where the people who lived here went."

"Hopefully somewhere less bleak."

Ana shrugged and began fiddling with the firewood, making a pile in the fireplace. Orron watched with a degree of fascination. Wilderness survival was not a skill Titans were taught, and fire building was no exception. Within a minute, she had gotten a small, crackling fire going, offering a welcome change from the chill of the outdoors. Feeling secure, Orron closed the thin door to the hovel and began unclipping his breastplate. Ana knelt by the fire, staring into it. He joined her once his armor sat on the lone table.

"So." She didn't make eye contact with him. "A lot has happened."

Orron looked at her. It was a stupid thing to say, and it didn't warrant a full response. As if she wasn't expecting one, Ana shrugged and continued.

"What do we know for sure?"

Orron thought briefly, organizing his thoughts in his own head before presenting them to her. "We know that Prince Uldren is in the Hellas Basin. We know that Rasputin has launched a number of new Warsats over Nessus. We know that Nessus is also currently being…'eaten'...by a massive Cabal warship. And we know that we don't know where most of the Fallen have gone."

Ana was quiet for a minute.

"It's like pieces of a puzzle. We have all of these different events, they might be related, they might not be. We don't know yet."

Orron nodded. "No. We don't."

 **ANA**

Ana was hoping that Orron would find a way of re-organizing the few facts they had concerning the strange series of events and coincidences that had occured over the last few days, a way that opened a new path of thinking for them. Instead, she had gotten exactly what she had asked for - just the facts. Nothing new. Nothing enlightening. She should've known that would have been the case.

Ana was still unsure about how she felt about her companion, even after this harrowing few days. The Titan was still trying very hard to maintain a professional outer shell, revealing very little to her about himself, how he felt, what he was thinking. It was beginning to show cracks, though - his revelation that he remembered being a soldier, his uncharacteristically friendly remark about having her back. She only hoped that she could eventually break through to whatever dwelled on the other side of this shield. It would be better for the fireteam.

"I killed people, back there." Ana was immediately surprised that he initiated a conversation, and doubly surprised that this was the topic he had chosen.

"Hm?"

"I killed four men. Humans. Not Guardians. Not Cabal, or Fallen. They're dead now."

Ana glanced at him. He was staring into the small fire, watching the flames dance between the dry and quickly-blackening logs. She wasn't exactly sure where he was going with this, whether he would turn it into another attack on her. She answered cautiously. "Yes...you did."

To her relief, it seemed that Orron was more interested in venting. He continued slowly, with a far-off sense to his voice, like his mind was elsewhere even as his mouth spoke.

"Yet...I sense it wasn't my first time doing it. It's the permanence I remember. There's no coming back for the dead."

He shifted and looked at her.

"Did you ever kill anyone? Back when you were...well, before you were a Guardian?"

Ana shook her head. "I wouldn't have. I was a scientist, not a soldier."

Orron nodded slowly. "I was a soldier. I know that, and it shows. When I kill a Hive wizard, I don't even blink. Or a Cabal legionary. Or a dreg. I never even think twice. But now, despite everything, despite this past I barely remember, I find myself thinking back to the faces of the scavengers I drove my shield into, the brief flashes of agony in their eyes. What kind of soldier am I?"

The fire popped, emitting a brief shower of sparks and interrupting Orron. Ana remained focused on it, wondering where the Titan was going with this.

"I wonder what their names were. If they had families. If they were truly evil at heart, or just…"

He shook his head.

"Despite everything, those men lived a fuller life than I have. At least that I remember."

Ana's mouth creased as her eyes met his.

"That's not true, Orron."

He smiled, a thin, insincere thing. "Isn't it? Memory is what makes _us_ better than the Hive. Or the Vex. Or Rasputin. Without memory, what are we? War machines. Killers."

Now it was Ana's turn to shake her head. "No, no. You've got it all wrong, Orron." Something tender possessed her in that moment, and she reached out and clasped her hand over the Titan's. There was something in his eyes then, an insecurity she hadn't yet seen.

"Memory is not what makes us human. It's...well, it's _you_ that makes you human. Your flaws, your strengths. _You._ Not who you were in the past. Who you are now. And I can guarantee that you're more human now than those scavengers ever were."

Orron let her hand rest on his, as he slowly nodded. "I.." A pause. "Thank you, Ana." He withdrew his hand and went back to staring at the fire. Ana watched him, for a minute more. But she saw nothing else. The inscrutable Titan's guard was back up. She waited, almost expecting some sharp rebuke or biting comment to accompany it, but was met with only silence.

 **ORRON**

 _He was warm. Cozy. His surroundings were soft, lush, even. There was a sense of security here, and something...else?_

 _A voice. A female voice, soft. Almost a whisper._

" _Or...please. Reconsider. For me."_

" _I can't. You know that." His voice was muffled, half in his...pillow, he supposed. It sounded like his voice sounded filtered through his helmet now - or in the future._

 _A light touch on his bare shoulder. He rolled over, searching the darkness for a face, a face that he knew, but saw nothing._

" _You're not like him, Or. Kelle is different. He's…"_

" _He's what? A killer?" He scoffed, but there was no humor in it. It was a sad, disappointed sound. His voice lowered._

" _That doesn't make him different. When you...when you kill someone, the first time, you think…'I'm not myself anymore. How could I do that?' You don't eat, you don't drink, and when you finally sleep, you feel sick. And then you wake up the next day, and everything is fine. And you're still you. And you realize...that this person has been you all along. You just didn't know it yet."_

 _The hand slapped him on the shoulder._

" _Not a conversation for bed!"_

 _He smiled at the darkness across from him. "If I go, you won't have to put up with my dark nighttime thoughts, at least for a bit."_

" _Don't, Or. I'll miss it."_

" _It's out of my hands now."_

As soon as it began, the memory...or vision...ended. Orron replayed it in his head, wondering why this piece of his memory chose to come back to him now. One phrase stuck out, and he heard his own voice saying it over and over.

"This person has been you all along. You just didn't know it yet."

 **OOC: Shorter chapter. I kinda wanted to explore a bit how a Guardian might feel about actually killing a human - considering we only ever fight either evil monsters or Guardians in the game, and they get revived. How would it be to take a life knowing the other person isn't coming back?**

 **As always, reviews are appreciated!**


	12. Chapter 12 - Odyssey

**ANA**

She awoke just after dawn, stirring as the winds whistled through the small cracks in the wooden-slat walls of their temporary abode. The light streaming through the shutters was pale, fresh, and cold. The fire that had warmed them had faded to mere coals. Ana stood and stretched, her eyes falling to her companion, who was still curled into the curious, contorted ball he apparently slept in. It certainly didn't look comfortable, and, she thought, it wouldn't surprise her if he had intentionally chosen to sleep like that to punish himself. Or build character. Or discipline.

She jabbed him with her foot. "Get up, Orron. European Dead Zone isn't that far now."

The Titan stirred, his eyes flickering open. The cloudy confusion of early morning lurking in his vibrant eyes quickly resolved into clarity. He muttered something, and sat up. Ana waited for him to make a comment about their conversation last night, but he merely stood and began fastening his breastplate over his now-filthy and ragged bodysuit. If anything, there was a grim determination in the Titan's movements, a resolution to _ignore_ what had been said.

 _So,_ Ana thought. _We're back to the old Orron. No more emotional vulnerabilities here._

Orron's Ghost flickered into reality, scanned the room for what must have been the fifth time, and turned it's singular eye towards the two Guardians.

"If my positioning calculation is correct, the European Deadzone is only a few hours away. From there, we can transmat, and -..."

"We know, thank you." Ana sounded more snarky than she meant to be, but Ghost didn't really seem to mind. From what she had seen of Orron's constant companion, Ghost was a master of sarcasm. A curious pairing of Guardian and Ghost, but she had seen stranger.

The rest of their morning passed mostly in silence. They ate their Old Russian protein bars, checked their weapons once, then twice, and exited their temporary home. In the distance, Ana could make out the mountains that separated what had once been the vast and fertile basin of Eastern Europe, the breadbasket of the old world, from the hills and forests of the central Continent.

At least, that was how she remembered it. The coming of the Traveller and subsequent Collapse had probably wrought changes on the face of the world, she thought. Another piece of the past that had fallen by the wayside, something that might have been important once only to be forgotten.

It amused her, how much the past had begun to dictate her life - and not only hers, Orron's, too. Whatever memories lurked behind the Titan's troubled eyes, they were weighing on him. She could see it more with every passing day. Beyond that, a dead Warmind - a Warmind from an age long gone - now loomed over everything they did, a silent watcher, making inscrutable moves on a chessboard neither Orron nor Ana could fully see. Even Prince Uldren, lurking in the caves of Mars like some ghastly revenant, was Awoken, a product of the Collapse, another enigma from long ago. It amused Ana, and scared her - not because the past was scary, but because it was increasingly clear they had no answer for it.

As her Sparrow seemed to almost guide itself towards the far-off mountains marking the EDZ, Ana tried to take her mind off of it. She couldn't.

 **ORRON**

"This person...has been you all along. You just didn't know it."

Orron had expected to repeat this brief phrase from his dream as a mantra, over and over, as he and Ana continued towards the EDZ. Instead, he had awoken, accepted it as fact, and continued regardless. There was a nagging worry that was starting to grow in his mind - not about what he had done, but about his emotional outbursts, which seemed to be increasing almost exponentially. Something about his travels with Ana Bray had opened up his cloistered emotional center. He hoped it wouldn't compromise his ability to do his duty. Deep down, he knew it probably would.

Signs of civilization began appearing around the pair as they sped along in silence. Lengths of shattered highway, destroyed road signs, crumbling villages and suburbs. The "European Dead Zone" didn't encompass all of Europe; it didn't even encompass most of Europe. Most Guardian activity centered around southern Germany, though Orron knew from his studies that the mountains ahead were the Carpathians, which delineated the easternmost edge of EDZ, and thus they would be entering what had been the Czechoslovak Republic. He only hoped the sat feedback past the mountains would be good enough to allow them to summon jumpships. He was tired of wandering. Everything about the past few days had seemed like a distraction - irrelevant, and ultimately pointless. Despite Zavala's intentions, they had come back from the Cosmodrome with a wounded Guardian and more questions than answers.

The base of the mountains loomed large, their foothills reaching like the roots of a great tree into the plains. A great notch, visible even from this distance, marked the passage of the nearly-disappeared highway the two were following through the mountains. As the two rapidly closed the gap between themselves and the mountain road, it became clear that this had been the sight of some great tragedy during the Collapse. A pileup of rusted-out cars had created an obstacle, and behind it rows and rows of similarly rusted out cars completed the horrible memorial to a long-past event. It was not dissimilar to the outskirts of the Cosmodrome in overwhelming sense of desperation that still permeated the area. It made Orron uncomfortable.

As they passed the pile-up cautiously, Orron could feel Ana's eyes on his back. He wondered if she expected him to have another flashback, or moment of vulnerability. Instead, he kept his eyes straight, peering ahead into the pass. The Carpathians were not small mountains, and this road was long and twisted. Orron had never been here before in his time as a Guardian - he had stayed well west, in the ruins of the German industrial town of Salzburg. But despite that...the mountains felt familiar.

" _Neo-Luddites."_

 _Lieutenant Valte pointed at the map, the dim light flickering over the metal table it was perched on. All attention was on him. Gunnery Sergeant - no, Master Gunnery Sergeant - Ortiz stood behind him, towering over the smaller man. He was surprised Gunny had decided to show up. And he wasn't the only one. There were SEALs, SAS, a couple of French paratroopers, and even two Brazilian Directorate BOPE officers. He wasn't sure how or why they got here. Kelle had left an impact on many through his work, it seemed._

" _Most of them are holed up here, in the Carpathians. The continued instability in Ukraine has given them opportunity to carve out a rogue little state."_

" _Believe me, we know all about the Neo-Luddites." This from one of the SAS guys._

 _Valte nodded concilitorily. "Fine. We've acquired a couple of choppers from the spooks. We'll come in low, land some miles from the compound that Kelle is apparently at, and -..."_

 _Now Gunny Ortiz spoke up. "And what the hell does a squid know about specwar, huh?"_

 _Valte sighed. He knew better than to correct the veteran Marine on his lack of respect. He also wasn't a squid...not anymore. Officially, maybe, but...no use in explaining that now._

" _Trust me, okay? He's my friend too."_

The brief memory disappeared as quickly as it had entered his brain. Orron barely paid it any mind - they were so common now. It only felt like one more piece of a puzzle he couldn't even see falling into place. Orron shook his head mildly and absentmindedly tugged at his holstered pistol. It would be many more hours until the pair were on the other side and comfortably within the confines of the well-patrolled EDZ. The Titan hoped there would be a distraction. He needed to get his mind off things.

 **ANA**

"Orron, left side!"

The Titan quickly peeked around the corner of the Cabal field supply crate he was crouched behind and squeezed off two shots at the advancing Legionary. They both impacted on its face plate and the Cabal's head exploded in a messy combustion of flesh and the strange oil that seemed to sustain them. Ana herself was kneeling behind a low barricade, her pulse rifle ready. Another Legionary advanced towards Orron, activating its jetpack. Ana expertly brought her weapon to bear and fired off a burst before the Titan could even react. The Cabal's jetpack exploded in mid-air, taking the rhinoceros-like soldier with it.

Ahead, Ana heard a mighty roar, and saw a Colossus leap out of a dropship, followed by a Centurion and more Legionaries. She sighed. Of course, they should have expected that the Red Legion would be defending such a key pass. Orron seemed almost excited when they had spotted the small fortification. The two Guardians had quickly overwhelmed the token force of war-weary Cabal manning the outpost, but wave after wave of reinforcements had been called in. The Cabal were nothing if not stubborn. Not for the first time, she found herself comparing the heavily-armored, emotionless brutes to Orron. It wasn't fair, she knew, but she couldn't help herself.

Instinctually, she squeezed off another burst a Phalanx who let his head dip above his shield. Three bullets. Three impacts.

She realized that she and Orron had developed a sort of rhythm. The Hunter, with her quick reflexes, eagle eye, and long range gun, took care of long-range threats, and those distracted by the much larger target in the Titan. Orron, in turn, used his hand cannon's superior stopping power and his own powerful physicality to dispatch any threats that came close. It pained her to admit it, but the Titan was _really_ good. Possibly the best Guardian she had ever seen in combat, and she had seen...herself. And the entire Vanguard. There was no wonder that those in the tower talked about him in reverent, hushed whispers.

 _Stay focused,_ she told herself, as she began pounding the advancing Colossus with her pulse rifle. The thing's heavy shields flickered, but the elite Cabal soldier roared again and turned to her. The immense rotary cannon in its hand begin spinning, and she knew better than to wait around. She dashed between the damp pines in front of the outpost, the Cabal soldier becoming confused by her rapid movement. His cannon struck far behind her, and she took up a new firing position on the Colossus' flank now. Now Orron was focusing his fire on the beast too, and the shields flickered, and finally failed. The barrels of the rotary cannon were spinning rapidly, spitting hot lead at Orron now. Ana slung her pulse rifle over her back and concentrated for a moment, drawing from within her vast reserves of Light. In an instant, she felt the familiar heat of solar-energy revolver called the "Golden Gun" by Guardians, and in three shots, the Colossus fell, dead, pools of solar energy and Light burning through its armor. Orron emerged from cover, weapon still drawn, as he did a quick scan of the area. Dozens of Cabal lay dead around the two Guardians. Orron shook his head.

"They never learn."

Ana raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

The Titan met her eyes, and for a moment, something like a smile danced behind his stoic expression. He holstered Sturm and walked towards her. She decided to continue.

"You're welcome for that."

"For…?"

"For saving your skin."

The Titan scrunched his eyebrows together. "I didn't need saving. You just wanted to show off. I get it, you can use the Golden Gun. I don't know why you had to waste it on…" The Titan motioned with his hand towards the dead Colossus. "It wasn't even an officer!" Ana smirked, and didn't answer. She enjoyed toying with the Titan, and now it struck her for the first time that Orron might actually have a sense of humor. Or at least, a ghost of one.

"Come on," she said, moving back towards the road away from the outpost. "It's only a few more hours until we're at the heart of the EDZ."

"Make for Salzburg, if you can."

Ana shrugged.

"Any reason? More fond memories from a past life, perhaps?"

Orron didn't take the bait. "I know we can transmat to our jumpships there." He responded dryly, before his Sparrow appeared before him. He mounted it and looked back at, his expression blank, waiting for her.

There was little conversation for the rest of the journey.

 **ORRON**

"So you've learned...nothing." Zavala paced as he usually did, his eyes focused not on Orron but on the still-rebuilding Last City, expanding out to the horizon from their platform on the wall.

"Besides the fact that the Fallen are definitely gone and that Rasputin is at least mildly concerned about the monstrous craft eating Nessus, no."

Zavala glanced back at him.

"I didn't need for you to spend half a week trekking through Europe to get that information."

Orron didn't say anything. He knew more was coming. The Vanguard Commander sighed and rubbed his temples. Orron only now noticed the bags under the Awoken's eyes, a dark violet that contrasted with his light blue skin. Zavala turned to face him fully, a pause filling the air.

"We...lost a fireteam while you were gone. Fireteam Lazarus. The ones we had assigned to watch Rasputin"

Orron slowly nodded. He felt his stomach drop - it wasn't often a whole fireteam was wiped out completely. At least, it hadn't been, up until Ghaul had caged the Traveler. Markos had been a good Titan, and more important, a good man. Orron didn't know the rest of his fireteam very well, although the Hunter, Emilie, had been a persistent bane in Lord Shaxx's Crucible, the few times Orron partook.

"I'm sorry to hear," he said at length, meeting Zavala's gaze. "How?"

"They...were stabbed."

"Stabbed?" Orron looked confused. A simple stab wound wouldn't even cause a Guardian to flinch.

"Markos and Tel, the warlock, were. Emilie was...shot."

Orron considered it, his head cocking to the side as if in thought. Seeing Zavala's stare shift, he turned around, and was greeted with the sight of Ikora Rey walking calmly towards them.

"Ikora." Zavala didn't smile or offer any further greeting. Orron simply nodded politely. The Warlock Vanguard offered a thin smile in response, but it was strained. Orron could tell she was stressed, too.

"We know how they did it now. How they killed Fireteam Lazarus." The Warlock made no attempt to hide the emotion in her voice. Anger as well as sadness.

"And?" Zavala's response was measured and expectant. Orron was curious as well, and he listened intently.

Ikora spoke slowly, as if what she was saying didn't make much sense even to herself. "Markos...and Tel...and Emilie...they weren't killed... _here."_

" _Here?"_ The Warlock had spoken in a knowing way, as if the two Titan could understand what she meant without explanation.

"They were killed...in a timeline where the Traveler doesn't exist."

 **OOC: DUN DUN DUN!**

 **I had a dual problem here. I wanted to somehow make Uldren powerful without diving into the whole Forsaken storyline - I'm just...ignoring that, for now...and I also wanted to insert a second act instead of racing towards the conclusion. This Vex tech should be quite an obstacle for both our heroes** _ **and**_ **villains to overcome...**


	13. Chapter 13 - Repository

**ANA**

Ana had been put up in Palla's old room, right next to Orron's. It had remained vacant since Orron's hunter friend had perished following the Red Legion's invasion, and Ana felt uncomfortable as soon as she walked into the room. It felt like she had entered a tomb or memorial of some sort, though there was nothing to identify the small, plain space as having belonged to Palla. It was just an empty bedroom, similar to thousands of others in the Last City.

She sat on the bed, gray and hard. It was the bed of a soldier, and now it was empty. Empty because of a sacrifice made by someone who didn't even have a choice in how their life was lived. Ana wondered if Palla knew anything of her past. She doubted it. She kicked her legs absentmindedly, eyes scanning the walls and ceiling as if looking for something, but there was nothing there. It was only a room.

 _I'm reading too much into this_ , she thought. _Orron's melancholy is getting to me._

Just then, she heard a light rap on the door. It slid open, and Ikora Rey walked in, graceful as ever, though her face was taught and nervous. She smiled, slightly, as Ana met her eyes.

"Ana Bray. I was wondering what it would take to bring you back home. Orron wouldn't have been my bet."

Ana wanted to interject that Orron wasn't the reason she was sitting in this barren, dreary place, but she knew that wasn't entirely true. Instead, she flashed a half-grin that seemed awkward even as it spread across her face.

"Guess so."

Ikora studied her for a minute. Ana didn't like it one bit - the Warlock's eyes glistened with intelligence, a keenness that penetrated straight through her. The Vanguard said nothing, though, and spoke only after a pause.

"Where is he?"

"Hm?"

"Orron."

"I don't-...I'm not sure."

Ikora smiled tightly again. "I need to speak to both of you, together. Can you go find him?"

Ana nodded. "Sure thing."

"Good. I'll be in my office. Try to make it quick."

The Warlock walked out as quietly as she had entered, leaving Ana alone in Palla's room. Ana already knew where to find Orron; she had found him there once, before. She stood and exited the room just after Ikora, though to Ana's surprise, the Warlock was not in sight down either end of the hallway. She followed the path she had taken days before towards the sparring arena, down the long, concrete corridors, until the sounds of fighting grew louder.

The sparring arena was immediately off of the hall, and Ana peered through the door briefly before entering. As expected, Orron was fighting with the automatons, mechanical representations of enemies of the City. The sparring chambers were little used - most Guardians preferred to learn on the fly, get practical experience. Not Orron.

Ana watched as the Titan took on not two, but three Fallen Captains. He held in both of his hands a sparring sword, not dissimilar to the ones she had seen on his dropship, interfaced with the automatons to realistically simulate blows. Orron was a powerfully built man, tall and muscular, but Ana was surprised at the speed of his movement. He rarely dodged outright, she noted, preferring to use careful footwork and rapid parries to counter the twin blades of each of his opponents.

One of the faux-Captains feinted left. Orron didn't buy it, and parried the inevitable right jab before effortlessly leaning back and allowing a slash from another Captain to pass harmlessly over his shoulder. His sword moved up in a cleaving motion so fast Ana couldn't see where it connected, but by the time Orron shifted again, she could see that one of his attackers glowed orange - it was "dead." She cleared her throat, and Orron muttered "Stop." He turned to her, sword still in hand, sandy-brown hair matted down over his eyes, his sharp features slicked with sweat. He shifted his sword to his left hand, twirling it, and wiped his brow with the sleeve of his practice jumpsuit. A flicker of a smile graced his face - almost handsome, she found herself musing. Almost.

"Come back for round two?"

Ana found herself smiling back, despite herself. She had thought, not too long ago, that she would never be able to figure out the Titan and his seemingly random mood swings and occasional flashes of humor but was coming to realize that there was nothing random about them at all. Orron enjoyed dry, sarcastic witticisms, and Ana could see now why he and his Ghost got along so well.

"I still have the bruises from last time. I'd prefer that they heal first. We...have something else to do."

Orron twirled the sword between his hands, walking towards the wall-mounted weapons rack as he did. He handled the two-handed blade as if it was a toy. It _was_ a practice sword, after all, but it still impressed Ana, whose skill with melee weapons extended only to her boot knife. He turned back to face her, and nodded back down the hall towards their rooms as an indication of where he was going. The Hunter chose to walk ahead of him, and reached Palla's old room first. She leaned against the doorframe, her arm extended, blocking him from entering his own room. The Titan looked at her, a flash of confusion passing over his face.

"We're going to talk to Ikora."

Orron didn't have a visible reaction, so she continued.

"It's about Mars."

This time, the Titan nodded, knowingly. "I thought as much." Ana shifted to lean on the wall more comfortably as she crossed her arms.

"And how did you know what it was about?"

"I had an idea." The Titan brushed past and opened the door to his room. "Anything else?"

She rolled her eyes and intoned in a sing-songy voice: "Shower and change before you meet Ikora, okay?"

 **ORRON**

Ikora's office always unnerved Orron. It was a stretch to call it an office; it was more of a _space_. It was a perch, not dissimilar from Zavala's, overlooking the Last City, but unlike Zavala's, it was heavily ornamented. The things decorating the perch were crystals of strange forms, banners with unknown origins, and trinkets that glowed and hummed. Warlock stuff. Orron didn't like Warlock stuff, mostly because he didn't understand it.

Ikora was already standing, waiting for the two of them, hands clasped in front of her, a serene smile on her face. That was another thing that always unnerved Orron. The Warlock Vanguard always seemed calm and collected, no matter what the circumstance was. The one time he had seen her truly unleash her rage had been when the Red Legion sacked the Last City, and even then, Zavala still surpassed her in anger and frustration nearly every day.

"Orron. So good to see you."

Orron inclined his head in greeting. Ana gave a friendlier wave, and Ikora motioned for the two to come closer. Despite the bustle of passing Guardians only a few meters away, the space around Ikora had a quiet serenity, and soon, Orron found himself straining to hear the passing crowd at all. _More Warlock magic_ , he thought.

"I apologize for the short notice." Ikora began. "The subject of this meeting is time sensitive, and more important than I can possibly stress."

The Titan glanced over at his Hunter counterpart and saw her listening intently. Though Ana knew that this little chat was about the situation on Mars, Orron didn't see any indication that she had predicted what exactly had happened. He didn't blame her. If he hadn't known any better when Ikora had revealed that an entire fireteam had been transported to another timeline by arcane Vex technology and murdered, he might have laughed. Ikora had a good sense of humor. But the tone of her voice - the wavering between rage and sadness that he had seen only that one other time - clued him in. Something was wrong.

"What is it?" Ana was saying, her voice holding an urgent edge. Orron snapped back into the moment.

"There's no use in formalities or semantics at this point. We lost contact with the team we sent to Mars a few days back, Fireteam Lazarus." Ikora paused, waiting to see if there was any recognition on Ana's face. She looked blank. The Warlock Vanguard continued.

"We sent another fireteam out to search for them. They found their bodies. Two - their Titan, Markos, and Warlock, Tel - were stabbed to death, Markos seemingly after a prolonged struggle. The Hunter, Emilie, was shot in the face." Ikora's voice was grim. "The...killing wounds did not match any we'd ever seen from the Cabal, Hive, or Fallen. In our analysis of the bodies, we found something disturbing. Fireteam Lazarus...was no longer Guardians."

Ana's eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. "Their Light was drained?"

"No," Ikora said. "They...never possessed Light in the first place."

A silence hung over the trio as the pronouncement sunk in. Orron caught a glimmer of fear in Ana's eyes as she turned back to look at him, as if for support; but he was already caught up. He had already made his peace with this new, disturbing reality. Ikora folded her hands behind her back and turned partially away from the two, looking at the awakened Traveler.

"Fireteam Lazarus was killed in a timeline where the Traveler never existed. They were Lightless. Only mortal."

"The Vex," Ana interjected. "The Vex killed them. They're the only ones who meddle with time that way."

"Yes, it was Vex technology. But the Vex's meddling with different timelines has, until now, been confined to the Vault of Glass, a laboratory where their Minds can control every aspect of reality. There are no major Vex structures on that part of Mars that we know of."

Orron, of course, had been to the Vault of Glass. He had killed Atheon himself - as much as one could kill a timeless, near-omniscient gatekeeper to a realm of horror that the Titan couldn't begin to understand. He knew Ikora was right, that the Vex preferred to conduct their experiments in guarded seclusion, where they could manipulate time safe from the prying eyes and burning Light of Guardians.

Ikora had turned back to them now, her tone no longer holding the graveness of one explaining a loss but instead the pointed didactic of a teacher explaining a concept. "The Vault of Glass, however, was on a different scale than whatever this was. A _smaller_ scale. I suspect that the Vex were attempting to pull a Vex army from another timeline to ours using the Vault. Impressive, but not apocalyptic. If my analysis of the deaths of Fireteam Lazarus is correct, the Vex, or someone using Vex technology, have discovered a way to bring a whole other timeline, a whole alternate universe, one where Guardians don't have the advantage of the Light - and have made it portable. _That_ is apocalyptic."

Orron shifted. He'd thought over the circumstances last night, after Ikora's revelation, and had independently come to the conclusion that the Vex were at least involved. He had only moments ago thought that this was just another mystery to confront and defeat, no different than the hundreds of schemes of the Darkness' allies that the Titan and his fellow Guardians had already defeated. But when Ikora laid it out in front of him, he realized he had no weapon with which to fight this. The Vault of Glass, disturbing as it had been, could be put into simple terms. Vex base. Vex army. Destroy them both, save the City. This new devilry had only one conclusion - the erasure of the City and everyone who defended it from time itself. It almost made him shiver. And yet...there was a missing piece.

"If the Vex have this capability, why have we not seen it before - haven't even heard of it?" Orron's interjection came out a bit more forceful than he wanted.

"Maybe the Vex didn't want it to be seen. Or, perhaps more accurately, they weren't ready for it to be seen."

"How could it escape their grasp then?"

"That is your question to answer. The meaning is clear, however. Whatever you are hunting - or whatever is hunting you - is extremely dangerous."

Ana rested her hand casually on her hip. "And let me guess...you have no further information about...whatever this is."

"Nothing. Except...a lead. A location."

The two Guardians watched Ikora attentively. She sighed.

"It's not easily that I give this information to you. The place we're talking about is beyond dangerous. It makes the Vault of Glass look like a walk in the park. It's called the Repository."

Ikora paced forward, closing what little distance remained between them. Her voice dropped to barely a whisper.

"If Zavala knew I was sharing this with you, well...I'd prefer not to think about it. I'll keep it brief. The Repository - it's a Vex facility that stores memories. Data. The collected thoughts of a million different timelines. If there's any clue to what this weapon is, and who or what is using it,

It'll be there."

Orron nodded. "Where is it?"

"Mercury."

"We won't delay then."

Ana glanced over at him. "Hang on. We?"

"What? Gotten homesick already?" Orron didn't smile, but there was humor in his voice. Ana grimaced. "No."

"Good." Ikora's face was back her usual knowing smile. "Ana, why don't you meet Orron at his ship? I have to speak to him for a moment."

Ana nodded, but hesitated for a moment, before turning away from the trio and heading up the stairs towards the hangar. Ikora followed her with her eyes, and when she disappeared out of sight, fixed her gaze to Orron.

"You're going to be the first Guardian we've ever sent in there for an extended time, Orron. This place...there's something wrong with it. I can't explain it. Know you won't be fighting so much with the bullets from that gun -..." Ikora nodded at Sturm, on Orron's hip. "-...moreso the memories."

She paused, then looked him directly in the eye. It was something she never did, Orron thought. She was always...somewhere else. Not now.

"What do you know of your past, Orron?"

He tightened his jaw. He wanted to lie - say he knew nothing…

"I was a soldier."

Ikora nodded, then turned away. She said nothing more.

 **ANA**

"What did she say?"

She had to ask the question. Orron had barely just sat down in the pilot's seat, and Ana was - of course - leaning on the wall behind him.

"Vanguard stuff. Rules of engagement, and, uh mission parameters."

"You have rules of engagement...for the Vex?"

Orron cocked his head to the side, paused a beat, then nodded.

"She asked me if I remembered my past."

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her that I remembered being a soldier."

Ana shifted, her lips pursed. "Is that all you really remember?"

"Yes."

The Hunter could almost see the gears turning in his head. Orron was many things, but a good liar - no, not to someone who knew him. She suspected that she knew Orron better than any other person, at this point.

"I know a lot about myself, Orron. This place - this Repository - will hold few surprises for me...but for you... "

Orron interjected sharply. "You don't know that Anna. You heard what Ikora said, you know that the Vex are. We're talking about multiple universes, multiple realities, that are all concrete."

Ana smiled, almost sadly. "I know what I am - who I am - in at least one of those realities. If you being a soldier is all you know...I can only hope your mind is as strong as your Light."

They had cleared the entrance easily enough. Goblins, Minotaurs, the usual guardians of Vex enclaves. The machine-world of Mercury was covered in massive Vex spires, but the entrance to the Repository was small and unassuming.

"We're sure this is it?" Ana had her rifle out, scanning the blocky and unnatural geometry of their background, as Orron stared into a dark pit that seemingly led down deeper into the planet.

Orron's Ghost chirped, appearing in the air besides him and spinning. "I can scan almost anything in this galaxy. This door? I can't read past it. It's like it doesn't exist. So...sounds like what you're looking for, right?"

Orron grunted. Ana spun around, slinging her rifle across her back as she did, and took a single leap in front of Orron. She expected to be falling for a long time - instead, she found herself nearly instantly in a chamber unlike any she had ever seen before.

The walls around her shifted constantly, but almost imperceptibly - tiny cubes that merged and separated from one another, not in any patterns but seemingly randomly. Unlike most Vex structures, the walls weren't worn and covered with moss, but smooth and clean. What unnerved her above all was the whispering. It was quiet at first, but grew as she took a step forward. She couldn't make out any specific voices, but _felt_ the words they were saying.

" _Ana Bray."_

" _...An accomplished young…"_

" _...He's very proud of you, you know."_

" _Don't make me regret-..."_

" _I know you can do this, Ana."_

" _He's woken up and is asking for you."_

" _Who?"_

" _ **Rasputin."**_

A thud, and Orron was next to her, kneeling, a fist to the ground. He stood, straightened himself. Ana could see no emotion behind his helmet, but his pained lack of movement said everything. After a moment, he stepped forward and turned to her, hand on Sturm.

"What now?"

"We keep moving forward."


End file.
